


Odyssey

by flailingthroughsanity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Coming of Age, Drama, Gen, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-01 08:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flailingthroughsanity/pseuds/flailingthroughsanity
Summary: Shiro remembers nothing of his life before waking up in a port town, with a sword strapped to his back and a world he doesn't recognize. He's set on looking for answers - be they on the shoreline of the seaside village or across the expanse of the western oceans - and accompanies Keith, an inexperienced summoner, and his retinue on their pilgrimage.[It was a decent plan, one he would have done well with - he just didn't take into account rampaging monsters, a great evil casting its dark pall across the land, and his utter fascination with the raven-haired summoner.]The world lies on the brink of destruction. Only a select few may be able to save it.





	1. Prologus

**Author's Note:**

> Look who's writing yet another AU. This one takes elements from the Final Fantasy series, though you won't have to worry about getting into that to understand this. Characters will still be added later on, and tags may be changed from time to time (same with the rating).
> 
> Content Warning(s): Violence, blood, angst.

**PROLOGUS**

* * *

 

There were a lot of things Shiro doesn’t remember.

His childhood, for one instance, was nothing but a blur. He could maybe remember one part of it or not, can remember the feel of his mother’s arms around him, recall the idea of his father laughing – but it wasn’t the kind of remembering the way he remembered that he forgot to polish his sword yesterday, or that he had something to do for Belgemine tomorrow. It was a memory that trailed at the edge of awareness, something he knows he should remember, but, for the life of him, could not trace what he should be remembering.

Shiro does remember waking up, one day – in a soft cot in a small hut, the sound of the waves echoing in his ears – and he remembers waking up to an old lady sitting beside him. He remembered her fussing about him as he sat up, confused, and he remembers her talking about a toxin or some other. A part of him is alarmed – or should feel alarmed – but that part isn’t particularly strong, and Shiro’s finding everything lately to be something he could manage.

He still tries to remember, every day, what his past was like – but he really has no recollection of it. The old lady who had nursed him in his slumber called it an effect of Sin’s toxin – Shiro really doesn’t know what that is – and, in spite of how superstitious it sounded, the old lady doesn’t really strike him as someone who would take advantage of a clueless vagabond like him. It’s later on that he comes to find that he’s in the port town of Kilika – and he takes days to familiarize himself with what may have happened before the old lady allowed him to go about exploring.

“Remember”, she said, and in a slow manner wrought by age, demonstrated the bow that she had been teaching him to learn. “It goes like this and you say the words—“

“’Praise be to Yevon’, yeah, I think I got it the first time you taught me.” Shiro replied, smiling good-naturedly as he imitated her bow. A dip of the knee, hands parallel to his chest, fingers loose in a half-lemniscate position and a slow bow. She smiled, missing most of her teeth, but Shiro finds it genuine and bows to her in gratitude.

She takes a look at the sword strapped to his back. “Now, if anything happens, you can always come back here.”

Shiro raises a hand, waving at her. “I think I’ve overstayed my welcome already.”

“Oh, nonsense. It’s been a long time since anyone’s visited me. It was a pleasure for me as much as it was a labor for you, my dear.” And Shiro can agree with that, if for the occasional feeling of restlessness he had to suppress while he was being nursed back to health.

“Well, hopefully, I can swing around soon – with my memory intact, maybe.” His tone is light and funny, even if Shiro had the faint inkling that it would take more than a while for him to remember his past. The other – in her age – may recognize the underlying current of doubt in his voice as she frowns.

“You will, dear. Yevon will heal you, I know. Don’t lose hope.”

Shiro scratches the back of his head. “I still really don’t know who this Yevon guy is, to be honest.”

Ever since he awakened, it was the only thing he heard from her – “Yevon will heal you”, “Praised be to Yevon” — and from what Shiro had gathered, Yevon is probably some important person (or was) for an old lady to teach him the proper bow, but Shiro’s never really had a penchant for religion and faith, so he nods to her words even if he doesn’t really care for them. It was the best he could do, she did nurse him to health.

Belgemine smiles enigmatically. “It’s best you learn on the way.”

Shiro raises a brow, amused. “Experience is the best teacher?”

The shrug he is given in return is half-patronizing, half-honest. “It always is.”

* * *

Kilika is a port town, built by a seafaring people that have made home in close vicinity of the wide ocean. A cluster of little huts by the edge of the beach, half into the sea. When he was being nursed back to health by Belgemine, she would sometimes talk about the town – the recent gossip (apparently the local inn clerk and a married man had eloped and ran off to a place called Luca and wasn’t _that_ inappropriate), a bountiful haul down by the fisheries, a group of important men called “monks” passing to the temple (something Shiro found interesting – he had no idea where it was but he was curious to find out) – but nothing could compare to actually going about and exploring it.

It really was a port town, as Shiro steps out of Belgemine’s little hut, and his booted feet land on the wooden rafters that served as walkways for the entire town. It was a town built on the sea, and the rafters themselves looked old yet felt very sturdy under his feet, wrapped together by what seemed like rope. The sound of the waves continued to tumble through as he stood outside, the wind ruffling his flaxen hair, the spray of the occasional strong tide making him blink.

He squinted his eyes, feels the sea breeze sting them, and he raises a hand to ward of the sun beating down on him. People were about – and he deduced that it was sometime near noon – and he could hear their chatter from a distance.

“—hear about the summoner?”

“—half a day inside, and he hasn’t come out yet—“

Shiro files their words away, set on satisfying his curiousity about them on a later date, and decides to walk about the village. A couple of kids run by, and he shifts to the side and watches them go – laughing – and his eyes run down to their bare feet jumping on the rafters, used to the feel of the wood underneath. He takes a look at the way the people are dressed – finds theirs more fitted for a life by the sea (the turbans and the sleeveless shirts; the bare feet and bangles hanging from their wrists) – and finds himself a little bit over-dressed.

He looks down on his boots, his dark pants and the leather chestguard on him and frowns.

Shiro doesn’t really have much of a choice – he was wearing the exact thing when he first woke up, with a sword strapped to his back.

As he continues to go about the town, peeping at potions and weapons for sale – a nearby fish merchant offering deals for his goods – Shiro tries to recall ever being in this town. His mind comes up with nothing, and he’s distracted by his own frustration that he doesn’t notice bumping into someone.

“Oh—hey!” Exclaims an annoyed voice and Shiro looks up.

“I’m sorry—“He says to the other, and the stranger shakes his head and smiles.

“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going anyway.” The man before him is, well, he’s a bit on the lankier side but he had a lithe form (if the bare, muscled arms were anything to go about). He had sharp features – a bit roguish – and two sharp canines when he smiled in apology at Shiro.

He shakes his head, apologizing. “I wasn’t, too. A bit distracted.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” The stranger says, and Shiro takes a moment to look at the other. He wasn’t dressed the same as the others in Kilika. Aside from the sandals, or none, that the villagers sported – the stranger had boots on as well, black pants and a black leather-like shirt, bare arms out. If it were not for the same fair tone of skin with the other villagers, Shiro would have assumed him to be another foreigner because of his gear.

“You’re not from here, are you?” The stranger asks, crossing his arms and looking at Shiro in curiousity.

The other shakes his head, the stranger didn’t really feel threatening. “No…I’m not from here.”

“Oh, are you a tourist? From Luca?”

Shiro frowns, a bit familiar with the name as one of the things Belgemine had recounted to him in the midst of his recovery. “Uh—“

The other looks him up and down. “Well, you definitely aren’t from Besaid. So, my guess is that you’re from Luca or from Bevelle.”

And Shiro flounders, because he’s only heard of that Luca place from Begelmine and he has no idea where or what a Bevelle was. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

A man passes by, carrying a basket wrapped in cloth, and he calls out to the other. “Hey, Lance!”

The stranger raises a hand and waves back – his name was Lance, Shiro notes.

Lance turns back to him, a brow raised. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Shiro really doesn’t know – his memory isn’t up to par with the current situation, and it was times like this that would start to alarm him because how is he supposed to respond to questions like that? – but then he remembers Belgemine and her words, and not really knowing if it was true or not, but anything to rid the suspicion on Lance’s face, he blurts out. “Sin’s toxin.”

Lance’s arms uncross and fall to his sides. “What?”

“Sin’s…toxin?” Frankly, it sounded like a weak excuse but Shiro finds understanding dawn on the other’s face.

“Wow…man, that’s terrible.” Lance said, eyes sympathetic. Shiro doesn’t really know how to deal with such a display, so he nods and looks away. “I had a friend who got near Sin once and he started babbling nonsense. It’s great you’re a bit clearer, now.”

“Yeah.” The lie is heavy on Shiro’s tongue, but anything to escape the awkwardness of not knowing where he came from. “It’s bad.”

“It is.” Lance says, nodding. And, as if deciding on something, he looks around and then turns back to Shiro with a smile. “Wait, I know—“

“You know what?”

“Come with me.” The other says, hand on his waist. Shiro frowns.

“Go with you where?”

Lance points somewhere eastward, and Shiro follows the direction and spies a thick grove of trees climbing up the slope of the mountainside. There were some outcrops, stone-looking ones, amidst the trees. “To the temple, we can get you checked out by the monks.”

“I don’t know, I’m okay. I don’t think I need to be checked out—“But, and Shiro pauses in his words, he really doesn’t know where he is or where _anything_ is but this Lance guy might. He really wants to know what happened to him, if his faulty memory was really this Sin’s toxin stuff or if it was something else entirely, and looking for clues by himself would take more time and energy — plus the fact that he really doesn’t even know where Kilika is, or where to start looking in the first place. Being in a party – or, at least, given the head start would cut him time on how to really go about everything – and asking directions wasn’t something he was above on doing. Anything to just have that fog in his mind gone. “But, yeah, I think I can go with you.”

“Great,” Says the other smiling. “We’ll have you checked out and back in top shape in _no_ time.”

Shiro smiles at the other’s enthusiasm, at least a bit relieved to find a somewhat friendly face in a strange town (even if he doesn’t really know Lance). “Yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

“So, to the temple then…” The other says, trailing and in question.

“Shiro.” It was one of the few things he remembered the moment he woke up, and he extended a hand out to the other.

“Nice to meet you, Shiro. I’m Lance.”

* * *

“So, you don’t really remember anything?” Lance asks, and Shiro shakes his head.

They were making their way up to the temple, the noon sun beating down on them as they stalked up the mountainside. Kilika lay behind them, the occasional sea breeze reaching up to the shaded forests. It was a long trek, according to Lance – who was used to traversing the route from the town to the temple – and Shiro starts to feel a bit winded as they climbed up the slope.

The two would sometimes run into a passing traveler and Shiro would stay silent in the background as he let Lance do the talking, not really sure about the things they were saying. He was right, though. On a port town like Kilika, the people did dress for comfort and he hid the frown he wanted to wear as he watched the townspeople running down the slope, bare feet on the searing hot ground. He figures, they were probably used to it – a seafaring people.

“That’s got to be difficult.” Lance says, not a bit exhausted as he walks in front of Shiro. The other turns to him and spies the sword strapped to his back. “But, hey, you remember how to use that, right?”

Shiro shrugs, and decides to humor the other. “Stick them with the pointy end?”

The other looks a bit surprised – maybe taking his words seriously – but then Shiro smiles and Lance rolls his eyes. “At this rate, that might as well be the point, yeah? You’re really gonna need to stick them with the pointy end if we run into fiends.”

Shiro frowns, hearing the strange word. He’s about to ask what a fiend was when Lance stops and Shiro follows suit. They had reached a flight of stairs – stone steps – leading up to a huge outcrop. It was like a hill in size, and its front was carved down – Shiro doesn’t know if it was because of time or weather or by the townspeople – and stone towers were erected on the sides of it. There were a few people about, mostly under the shade by the sides of the towers, and some of them dressed similarly to the townspeople in Kilika while others had on white robes, printed with intricate, colorful designs and wearing box-like headdresses.

Shiro pants, taking it all in – the outcrop’s front had been carved out, and there were steps leading down a grotto, where a wooden entrance lay, and symbols – the colors still visible, but seemed worn as if painted years ago – were carved all around the entrance.

“We’re here.” Lance announces, and Shiro understands. This must be the temple, then. He takes a look back and marvels at the distance they crossed – from all the way down in Kilika to the temple – and Shiro whistles.

“So, that’s the temple huh?” It wasn’t exactly shabby, but it looked less impressive than what he had imagined.

Lance nods. “Uh huh, and the monks are inside. So, come on.”

The other angles a hand and walks forward, and Shiro follows suit. Some of the people about turn to look at them, and Lance waves his hands back at the others. The people in the white robes with the colorful prints simply turned their heads and returned to their business – whatever they were – and Lance bowed his head as they walked to the grotto.

“Wait,” and Shiro pauses, turning to the other. “you do know the bow, right?”

 _The bow?_ “Oh, you mean that Yevon thing?” Shiro says. Lance frowns.

“Yeah, but don’t say it like that, though. It’s rude.” He says, and Shiro nods, not knowing what was entirely rude about what he said but deciding to ignore Lance’s annoyance.

“Praise be to Yevon.” Shiro says and Lance finally smiles, nodding in approval.

Shiro still doesn’t really know anything about this Yevon thing, but he’s not particularly excited to antagonize the only person who can help him so he keeps his mouth shut and follows as Lance pushes the wooden doors open and steps into the seeming darkness.

He follows, and breathes in relief as the heat disappears and he feels the coolness of the room on his bare skin. The interior was a massive chamber, and he stands in place as he takes in the stone seats set in an outward circle, rising to the upper portions of the chamber. There are three statues, tall and imposing, set by the sides of a staircase leading to a raised dais. The statues are humanoid, men (or women) depicted in armor or in robes, and they stood imperiously over the rest. The entire chamber was lit by candlelight, and more people in white robes congregated on the stone seats, singing.

Shiro paused, listening to the tune. It was haunting, hymn-like – and it raised the hair on his nape.

“Where are we?” He whispers, although he doesn’t mean to, but the solemnity of the chamber called for it. Lance turns to him, and whispers back.

“The Temple of the Fayth.”

“Fayth?” He asks, and the other nods.

There were others inside, Shiro noted, and they were standing and bowing – knees in a dip, hands poised to the chest – at the statues, some of them at the people singing. The chorus was low, and it sounded mournful. Shiro might recognize it as something soothing but, on the other hand, in a place he doesn’t really recall, it can be a little…creepy.

“Lance...” They both turn to see an elderly man – balding, wrinkles under his eyes – approaching. He was wearing the same white robes, printed in colorful designs. Lance bows, and when the man looks at him in patience, Shiro sees Lance’s wide eyes and he follows suit, dipping his knee as he imitates Lance’s bow.

“Apologies for my friend, Father,” Lance says, and Shiro wants to frown at the ingratiation in his voice, but keeps his silent. “He was recently in contact with Sin and is suffering from Sin’s toxin.”

The man looks to him, and Shiro ducks his head – avoiding the other’s searching gaze (he doesn’t know how well his lie – if it were one – would sit on his clueless face) – and feels a hand grasp his shoulder.

“What a shame, my son,” the man says and Shiro nods, playing along. “Yevon be praised you are well.”

Shiro nods again, rests his gaze on the band down the man’s front robes – six glyph-like designs – and feels the hand move away.

“I am surprised you are not with the others, Lance.” The man says, and when Lance resumes his stance, Shiro follows. The other’s cheeks may have flushed red, but in the dimmed light, Shiro isn’t so sure.

“I apologize for being late, Father. I’m on my way there, now.” The man – the priest – nods and turns to the door at the dais. Shiro and Lance both follow the priest as he walks slowly to the steps. They pass by one of the statues – made of stone – and Shiro notes its masculine appearance: the long beard, the robe and the headdress. The statue – the man – looks fearsome and sturdy, unseeing eyes aimed at the walls of the interior chamber.

“That’s High Summoner Ohalland.” Lance whispers, and Shiro nods, taking in the austere countenance of the statue. “He was a champion blitzball player and he grew up here in Kilika.”

Shiro had no idea what blitzball is or was, but the word “summoner” did ring a bell and he remembered the conversations he overhead back at the port. “What’s a summoner?”

His question, posed innocently, echoed inside the chamber and a few of the goers turned to them in surprise. Even the old priest paused in his steps and raised a brow at them.

“Ah,” the priest began. “The toxin must have affected you immensely.”

The priest steps close to one of the statues and places a hand on it. It was different one – armored, but there was something distinctly feminine about it – and the lamplight glimmered on the sword in its left hand. “Summoners are practitioners of a sacred art, sworn to protect the people of Yevon. Only a few chosen become summoners, who call forth entities of greater power: the aeons.”

_Aeons?_

As if reading his mind, the priest smiles (and Shiro ignores the corroded teeth). “The aeons hear our prayers and come down to us. They are the blessings of Yevon made manifest.”

Lance bows at the end of the priest’s words, and Shiro doesn’t really follow him, staring at the statue. Sin’s toxin – whatever it was – was starting to become a tiring excuse. He doesn’t really know what it was, or if it even affected memory (or what Sin was in the first place), but all the information he’s been fed was starting to give him a headache. Shiro doesn’t really think it’s possible for him or for anyone to forget this much –

And he has to find out. He doesn’t know what happened to him, but he has to find someone who does. Looking at Lance, at the other bowing to the statue, he might be able to get on to the right direction.

“Father,” Lance says and Shiro turns to him. “has…has _he_ came out yet?”

The priest looks to the door on the dais – and Shiro is curious, because the door looks intricate and regal for such a dilapidated looking place - and shakes his head. “I’m afraid the summoner hasn’t left the Chamber of the Fayth.”

There was that word “Fayth” again, but Shiro frowns. “What’s in there, Lance?”

“The Cloister of Trials.” Lance answers, but the tightness of the expression on his face and the imposing sound of the words had Shiro frowning.

“Is it dangerous in there?”

Lance doesn’t answer, looking at the door. He flicks his eyes to Shiro and nods. “It can be.”

Shiro pauses. “What?”

“The Cloister. It can be dangerous…for some.”

“And there’s someone in there?” He asks, shocked. His voice is raised, and the priest and Lance turn to him.

“I’m afraid that is part of the trials. Only guardians are allowed to enter, and even then – only the summoners can call to the Fayth and receive their blessing.” The priest says, patronizingly, and Shiro frowns.

“Guardians?”

“Yes, and he has guardians there, and one of them is vicious—“

“But he can still be in danger, right?”

Lance sighs, looks exasperated. “Shiro, calm down, it’s part of the trials. Only guardians like me and—“

“You’re a guardian?” Shiro asks, rooted in place. “You’re a guardian and you’re just standing there when someone can get hurt?”

He doesn’t know why he does it – but the thought of someone in danger, someone alone and facing peril – had him propelling in his place, climbing up the steps. There are gasps of shock – from the other priests or the people, Shiro doesn’t really care – and he hears Lance shout after him, calling him to stop but he continues and, with both arms, pushes the gilded doors open.

The hall is dark, and the only light are the flames on the braziers set against the stone walls but Shiro continues. He shouts for someone, calls out and hears his voice echo in the empty halls – the shadows are imposing and thick – and he runs down the path, boots squeaking on stone steps.

The pathway isn’t complicated – there’s only one arch and one route – but it seemed endlessly long, and Shiro started to feel like he was walking in circles, calling for someone, listening for a sound of alarm. There are steps from behind, and he thinks it might be Lance, but he doesn’t really care now. If he were any calmer, Shiro would have paused to think and wonder why he felt the need to make sure this person was safe, but he was running on base instinct – a need that he had to comply – and he’s running through archways again, a hand on the damp stone wall, eyes squinting in the darkness save for a nearby torch.

And he hears it: a lone voice, singing.

Shiro pauses in his steps – panting – and leans against the stone wall. He feels the dampness stick to his flushed skin and he breathes, letting his breathing become stable. The voice – it was male, low and deep – it sounded lonely, mournful and the song – it was familiar, Shiro knew it.

It was the song sung by the people in white robes in the chamber.

The voice seemed nearby, coming from the dark arch before him, and he stepped close. Slowly, he made his way to the arch and jumped in surprise as something grabbed his arm. He turns, and sees Lance looking furious.

“What are you doing?!” The other asks, angry and panting.

Shiro doesn’t reply, pulls his arm away and stalks forward. “What are _you_ doing? You’re a guardian and you’re not worried someone might be hurt?”

“Do you even _know_ how many rules you’ve broken?”

Shiro continues stalking forward, feeling Lance at his back, and he wants to bite back and respond how rules were not important if it meant helping others. He knows that what he did wasn’t what they normally expected people to do – but he doesn’t really care if he broke one or one hundred rules, he had to go do something.

They reach the end of the hall and Lance’s huffing stop as they enter a smaller chamber.

There were stone columns – thick and old, chipped off in some places – rising to the ceiling. The floor was covered in tiles, and in the center of the room was a circular design – it was the color of gold and red, drawn like the sun – and before them, at the far wall, was a wing-like monument with a gilded entrance. On the center, at the top, of the monument was an engraved symbol: it was familiar, Shiro had seen it on the symbols of the priest’s robes and on the robes of the singing chorus. Small oil lamps were hanging from nooks, giving the room a fiery warm glow.

“The Chamber of the Fayth.” Lance says and Shiro pauses as a figure comes into the light. With his eyes adjusting to the light, he realizes there was also another figure – near the monument, back to them and if it were not for the lamplight, he would have melded into the background.

“What are you doing here?” The voice was cold – biting – and Shiro turns to see a slender, pale figure stand before them. The figure – female – wasn’t really tall, but she had a pale glow to her that made her look supernal. Her eyes were commanding, and they had a tinge of bright blue to them – almost vermillion in the lamplight. A pale brow raised. “Didn’t think we could handle it?”

“No, no, Allura.” Lance says, stammers rather, and Shiro seizes up when Allura turned her gaze on him.

“You brought a stranger?” She asks, and the tone is biting, blade-like. There was a strange aura to her, something dark and otherworldly and something more primal than consciousness told him not to get in this person’s way.

“Allura, look, it’s a long story—“ Lance begins, but Allura cuts him off.

“All your stories usually are.”

“He comes,” says a sibilant, almost faraway voice and Shiro remembers another person there. Although, and now that Shiro takes the time to notice the other figure, person isn’t really the right word. It – he, because it was male, as far as he can tell – was humanoid in appearance, but it was tall and slender. It wasn't clear in the shadows, but there were fine, web-like lines curling up his skin, giving the impression of tree trunk indents. He was dressed in dark green cloth, and wrapped in leather, and her hair looked scraggly and dark in the dim light. Shiro could see ears, but their tips were pointed – catlike – and when the figure turned to face them, there was a timeless look in her eyes. They were ancient looking, supplemented by the weathered features of his face.

Lance and the other, Allura, grow silent at the other’s words and turn to the monument. Shiro wants to know who is coming or what was happening but the lone singing grows stronger.

“What’s—“

Lance raises a hand and shushes him, staring at the winglike statue.

Then he hears it — a creaking sound, as if something as heavy as stone was pushed against it – and Shiro watches in amazement as the gilded entrance on the monument moves. He could feel the ground trembling a little, and watched with wide eyes as it rolled to the side, a path opening to them. The singing grew stronger and stronger, mournful note after the other, until it felt overpowering and Shiro itched to raise a hand to his ear and…suddenly, it was quiet.

The singing stopped.

"Keith?" The strange woman - Allura - whispered.

Shiro felt, rather than heard, everyone in the room hold their breath. The sound of steps, climbing up, and a pale hand stretches out from the darkness of the pathway inside the monument. It holds out to the wing and Shiro watched as someone stumbled slowly from the darkness.

He first saw white robes – it had the same cut as the one worn by the priests – but then they lacked the intricate designs. It was just a plain robe – simple – and topped by a purple sash at the waist. He doesn’t know if it’s tied at the back, but there are small patterns – starlike – and he spots black boots from under the robes as the figure climbs to the landing at the entrance of the monument.

The figure – another male – was a bit tall, and he was hunched over as he steps out. Panting quietly, the figure raises his head and Shiro takes in the dark hair, falling into his eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his smiling lips. His eyes were dark, the shadows in them melding in the curl of his hair but they flashed violet when the lamplight caught, and he smiled.

“I did it.” His voice was deep, and he smiled, even though he looked close to fainting and his skin was pale with sweat.

He was beautiful.

“I became a summoner.”


	2. Summoned Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got lovely feedback for the prologue, and I'm excited to give you guys the first chapter! AO3's chapter-naming system does throw me off a bit lol

> **CHAPTER I: SUMMONED BEAST**

* * *

 

The cacophony of noise was dulled, but it travelled all the way into the inner chamber. There were muted cheers and fanfare – and Shiro thought there might have been a horn in there somewhere – and he guesses that the summoner’s return from the chamber must have been a good sign. He’s not really sure, because after he saw Keith – the young summoner – stumble out of the monument, doused in sweat, the others in the chamber had dropped their hostilities and went to assist the summoner. Shiro still doesn’t know that is – summoner – but all he noted then was how fragile and young the other, Keith, was. He looked as if he was on the cusp of adulthood, barely past eighteen, and the way the tall figure with the pointed ears held the other carefully spoke so much of the other.   
  
Even Lance forgot to be angry with him for barging in places he shouldn’t have, as they slowly made their way out of the chamber. When Keith had stepped out of the dais, and into the inner sanctum where the tall statues were, that’s when the cheering started – hands in the air, ribbons and colored cuts of cloth waved enthusiastically. It wasn’t demure, by any standard — Shiro had to hold back from wincing as the explosion of noise reverberated around the sanctum, the echoes loud as they travelled around the small dome.   
  
Even the old priest was delighted – although he did pull Shiro’s arm when everyone started filing out to the grotto entrance, bringing him over to a statue.   
  
“Normally, such transgressions are punished severely.” Said the priest, voice low and raspy but eyes blinking in ire. Shiro swallowed, the vice-grip on his arm tight. “But we’ll set this aside for a future date. Today, we celebrate Lord Kogane’s ascension as a summoner.”   
  
The priest was ancient-looking, a bit hunched and thin; physically, Shiro was the superior one but he took a look around, noticing that a lot of the other villagers were still shuffling about. Taking a look at the almost creepy reverence they showed the statues, Shiro guessed that a snap of the priest’s fingers would have them ganging up on him within a second. Eager to get away from the other, Shiro nodded contritely and follows the crowd leaving the sanctum.   
  
It’s mid-afternoon when he stepped out of the grotto and into the warm sunlight and Shiro shakes his arms, realizing that they were chilly. He hadn’t even  _ noticed _ how cold it was inside, too distracted by what had been going on.

The sky had started turning an amber color, down at the horizon by the edge of the sea. Beyond the pillars of the grotto, the people outside had grown in number. Word must have spread quickly, as there were now almost hundreds of them. A flock of villagers, and they were all a mix of ages – some elderly looking men and women, sitting in the shade and away from the sun; those within their prime, standing in the center, almost crowding around Keith save for a polite amount of space – Shiro isn’t sure if it was out of respect or out of curiousity – especially the way they performed the bow as he walked to the center, deferential.

  
The children, however, did not care for traditions or courtesy – they all huddled close around the young summoner, holding his hands and, for those who weren’t able to hold his hands, held the ends of his robes. There were bright, happy smiles on their faces and they reached out to the summoner – who smiled at them in return, just as brightly, letting a young girl wrap her hand around his thumb.   
  
“What’s happening?” He asked, Lance standing next to him.   
  
The other turned, and smiled and Shiro is curious about the elation on his face. The other guardians – if that was what they were – stood near Keith, a pace or more away, and Shiro watched the way the wind carried the less bulky ends of Allura’s black robes into the air. It looked stifling, but the austere guardian didn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest. Lance turned to him and grinned. “Something really awesome.”   
  
And with a hand, Lance gestured for Shiro to follow as the other makes his way down the slope and to the center dial where the crowd, almost the entire town if, at all, possible, had congregated around Keith.

When Shiro stopped right beside Lance and Allura, the standoffish guardian turned to him with a bright blue eye and Shiro nodded, faintly wondering if he was able to mask the disquiet he felt around her. He didn’t know Allura, but his earlier instinct had been right – she was downright terrifying. 

He’s quite sure this was the ‘vicious’ guardian Lance had mentioned earlier. 

The other held a staff in her hands – painted in swathes of blue and gold – with a large circular head, intricate and flowy designs carefully etched on to the material. There were beads, colored in multitudes of red and gold, embedded in cyclical motions around the head. It looked ritualistic – a ceremonial staff – and it sat oddly in Allura’s hands. Shiro felt that it didn’t belong  _ on _ or  _ to _ her.   
  
“Keith, won’t you call it to us?” A nearby child’s voice carried over the excited chatter, and Shiro turned back to the crowd of children around the summoner. An older man, probably the father, hushed his son and corrected him (“It’s Lord Summoner!”) but Keith didn’t look bothered in the slightest. Now standing close, Shiro idly found that his early observations were correct – the other did look incredibly young. His hair was onyx – almost midnight in the darkness of the chamber – but, out in the sun, it shone like velvet. His skin was fair and, as the summoner reaches a hand out to ruffle a little girl’s hair, it seemed to glow with something he couldn’t really describe.   
  
Another child called out for Keith, and the summoner laughed – voice low and deep, a warm timbre, and Shiro doesn’t realize he’s smiling, unbidden, carried by the other’s laughter. It was genuine, heartfelt, and something about the laugh – bright and carefree – pulled at him.   
  
“Do you think I should?” Keith asked the crowd, humoring them. There were enthusiastic cheers around, and Shiro could feel the excitement not just from the children but also from those standing at the sides, watching the scene with piqued interest. He was about to turn to Allura,  to ask about what was happening because Lance hadn’t given him a clear answer earlier but the guardian wasn’t looking at him.   
  
Shiro turned to find the summoner approaching them. His robes billowed as he walked up the small slope and stopped before Allura.   
  
He kept his silence, watched as a soft, almost tender, expression settled on the severe-looking guardian’s statuesque features. Shiro noted that Allura looked striking and supernal — eyes that could rival the noon sky in their intensity, shock of braided white hair down the sides of her face — but her forbidding look can stave people off. Keith standing before him, though, changed that in a mere second.   
  
They must be family, Shiro thought. No words were spoken yet, but there was a faint glimmer of pride in Allura’s eyes as the guardian holds the staff out to the younger one. Keith holds it with one hand, and a terse smile curled up on his lips.   
  
“Go,” Allura said, quiet and soft. “do your best.”   
  
Keith nodded, eager. “I will.”   
  
Then – and Shiro is caught off-guard – the summoner turned to him and gifted him a amore open smile. Curved, a bit crooked, but it was genuine and the brightness in his purple-blue eyes has Shiro staggering. The emotions in his eyes – there were too many for him to catch and name – but their strength, their intensity drove home. He hasn’t seen (or even recall, but wasn’t that the problem?) a truer smile.   
  
It lasted for barely a moment, and Keith turned away and started walking back to the crowd. Shiro felt someone nudge him in the side.   
  
He turned to Lance, who was smiling at him wide with a raised brow. “He’s really cute, yeah?”   
  
Shiro wasn’t prepared for the question. “Oh…um, uh…”   
  
The truth was—that, well, Keith was definitely something. Shiro can’t find the right word, or think of the right term for it, but the word ‘cute’ spoke far too less and couldn’t hold up what Shiro was thinking: how Keith shone, singular, amongst the villagers and how he hasn’t failed to notice that everyone seemed enamored with him.   
  
“Don’t get any funny ideas, though.” Lance followed through, and pretended to flex his muscles at Shiro in an attempt at a threatening gesture.   
  
“Hey, I don’t have any ideas or anything,” Shiro retorted, raising his hands in an open gesture. Lance chuckled, turning back to face the crowd as Shiro followed suit.   
  
The crowd had doubled by then — if that was even possible — but they were pooling at the sides, near the steps and under the outcrop’s shades. Even the children that initially gathered around Keith were stepping back as the summoner walked to the center dial.   
  
Keith stopped at the center, the ceremonial staff in his hands and Shiro can’t help but think that it looks set –  _ right _ – in the summoner’s hands.   
  
There was something, a growing excitement – a thrill – and Shiro could feel it not just from the crowd, or the guardians beside him. He could feel it in himself, something telling him that what he was about to witness was something extraordinary, something unique and powerful. There was a thudding in his chest, a call, and it seemed the sentiment was shared as even Allura’s  aloof expression faded, eyes wide, waiting with bated breath.   
  
Keith raised the staff – its golden circular, ornate head shining in the afternoon sunlight – and a faint call echoed in his ears. It was familiar. 

It was the song, in the chamber.   
  
A gasp, a collective one, traveled over and Shiro felt his body tense as the staff head suddenly ignites in bright orange flames. He didn’t know what happened or where it come from, but watched as the flame travelled down the length of the rod and down to Keith’s hands. It’s only when Lance grasped his arms tight – painfully so – that Shiro realized he was about to run forward.   
  
“Calm down,” Lance whispered, fingers digging into Shiro’s arm. The grip hurt, and he was about to open his mouth and ask him what was wrong with him – letting someone catch fire – but Lance cut him off. “It’s not hurting him.”   
  
“What?” That was insane.   
  
Lance looked pointedly to the crowd. “Watch.”   
  
Shiro turned back, muscles tense, and his eyes widened as Keith continued to stand still, calm, as the flame enveloped the entirety of the staff – but, and from this distance it was even clear, the flame didn’t seem to even touch Keith. It glimmered and sparked and hissed in the air, but Keith’s hands remain perfectly unblemished, unscorched, and undisturbed. The flames danced around his fingers, playful – childlike – alighting Keith’s smile in a scarlet tinge.   
  
It was insane. Utter insanity, but Shiro couldn’t look away.   
  
Keith lowered the staff, flames flickering, and rolled it in his hands – bring it full circle – hand wrapped around his wrist as the other turns the staff, the head pointed to the ground. 

The flame traveled south, to the earth, slithering away from the staff (it was like water – liquid – and wasn’t that crazy?) and burrowing into the ground. The flame grows outward, tracing the lines of the dial, igniting the ground under Keith in a cyclical manner – and the summoner knelt and touched his hand to the ground.   
  
Another gasp, and this time Shiro can understand, as he felt the ground under him tremble. It was not unlike an earthquake, but it felt different. There was something, gargantuan, moving under the earth and Shiro heard a bit of a shriek as the ground under Keith’s feet cracked.   
  
The dial splintered – but it wasn’t in the web-like design he expected – it cracked out in the same manner as the flame, in an outward circle, as if tracing the lines of the dial.   
  
Keith stood and stepped out of the cracking dial, calmly, robes billowing, staff in his hand.   
  
Just in time – and Shiro’s mouth falls open – as the dial explodes upward, and a fiery gargantuan beast emerges from the ground below. Debris, clumps of earth and stone, fly into the air, cracking halfway with a sound that echoed like thunder, and the crowd raised their hands to cover their eyes – some screaming – as the beast settled on the small crater.   
  
It was growling, huge and Shiro doesn’t know why no one was readying their weapons when he sees armored men at the sides. No, what they were doing—   
  
They were looking at the beast with wide eyes and…they were  _ bowing _ .   
  
Shiro doesn’t know how to react, can only watch numbly as the crowd gathered and bowed to the beast – and he looked at the beast, at it’s leather-like tan skin, the fiery-red mane, the thick black horns protruding from its head. It stood on its hindlegs, and its front paws were huge – elongated talons – and a fearsome countenance, sharp teeth snapping momentarily. An aura of heat – like muted flame – cascaded off the creature, and it was like standing near an open fire. In the sunlight, its mane almost seemed like tangible fire.   
  
Its eyes were crimson, searing brightly, and Shiro didn’t know anyone crazy enough to approach it.   
  
“What—“ His words trailed into silence as Keith stepped close to the beast – and it growled at the throngs of people around it, causing most to step back – but when Keith raised a hand to it, palm open, the beast kneeled, the growl fading into a quiet hum — a purr — and it looked at Keith for a moment – infernal scarlet eyes – before it bowed its head, letting the summoner comb his fingers through the creature’s perfervid mane.   
  
“Ifrit.” Keith said – quietly – but even the furthest person standing in the open could hear him, in the shocked silence.   
  
And, as if a switch was thrown, the crowd erupted in cheer. The beast – Ifrit – straightened its back and howled into the sky as the crowd continued to scream. Keith remained by its side, now petting its front paw, where thick ebony talons settled on the ground. It was a fearsome creature – Shiro knew, just from instinct alone – but as Keith settled close to it and extended a hand to a brave child who dared to step close, a gentleness seemed to emanate from it.   
  
It’s a moment before he realized that he’s standing by himself at the edge, as the others walked close to Keith and the beast. The summoner turned from it – Ifrit – and to Allura and Lance, and, slowly, met Shiro’s gaze. Hee felt that same gentleness seep from the summoner.   


* * *

Dusk fell on the town of Kilika, and the sunset painted the sky and the sea a fiery orange. The tides had grown higher and they crashed against the logs that held the walkways and houses of the town afloat, but the people paid it no mind as music careened through the evening. There were drums and stringed instruments, and the cheer that had been brought on by the aeon Ifrit’s arrival had not diminished, but grown in noise as the townspeople celebrated Keith’s ascension as a summoner.   
  
To Shiro, who spent most of his time in Kilika bedridden and in a constant state of slumber, the celebrations were a bit of an overload for him. Children were playing along the walkways, bare feet rocking the edges of the rafters but holding fast somehow, and food was served around in huge straw platters. He stood to the side, by the wall of the nearby inn, and smiled as a teenage girl swung by him, offering him food from her tray.

  
Being polite – and a bit famished – Shiro grabbed the offered treat: it looked like bread, but it had a bit of a salty scent, not counting what looked like grilled fish atop it. Still, Shiro took a bite and found the taste quite appealing – if not a little foreign.   
  
“That’s pita bread,” Shiro nodded, mouth full, as Lance arrived. The other was still dressed the same, in his leather garb – and Shiro had a question about that, but filed it for a later time – and watched the other hold the same pastry. His was half-eaten, though, compared to Shiro’s. “They bake the bread in this flat dish over a fire, and the meat there is grilled marlin.”   
  
Shiro nodded, taking the information in.   
  
The two stood there, eating, and watched the ongoing festivities. There was a large table set in one of the central walkways, the one where people coming from the port or the temple would pass by – near the inn and the main docking head – and Keith was sitting in the center, Allura on the side and the pointed-ear one – his name was Coran, Shiro thought – on the other.   
  
“Hey, Lance,” the guardian looked up from his food. “Coran isn’t like us, is he?”   
  
Shiro didn’t know if the way he phrased the question was rude or acceptable, but there was really no other way for him to word it. He had noticed, for a while, since the chamber – the odd, timeless look in the other’s eyes – and he had been keeping his curiousity to himself.   
  
The guardian doesn’t look offended or bothered, though. “Oh, yeah. Coran’s an Altean.”   
  
He frowned. “Excuse me?”   
  
Lance blinked at him, and the look on his face was a bit comical. “You don’t know what—oh, yeah. The toxin.”   
  
Times like this, Shiro may be able to appreciate how easy an excuse that toxin thing was – even if it made him feel a bit sad on how he clung to such reason to explain his ignorance. It really was sad.   
  
Lance finished his pita bread and wiped his hands clean. “Alteans. They’re a bit like tree people. Well, not all of them but most live in Macalania Woods. They protect the trees and the Farplane.”   
  
“Tree people?”   
  
The guardian nodded. “Yup, you notice how Coran has sharp, pointy ears? Shaped like a leaf? And that he’s really tall and limber?”   
  
Shiro did. He remembered thinking how unnaturally tall and slender the other was, and how easily he blended into the background if he wanted to. If he thought about it, the dark scraggly hair could have passed off as a minor bush. “Yeah.”   
  
“And they’re really fast, too. You should see Coran run, it can be pretty scary.”   
  
Shiro didn’t say anything, but kept his comments to himself. A tall, slender humanoid running really fast after him? Yeah, that was terrifying.   
  
He turned to the other, and was about to open his mouth and ask about what a Farplane was – among the other questions he had in mind – but Lance beat him to it.   
  
“Hey, I’ve been thinking…”   
  
Shiro raised a brow, wiping his hands down his pants. “About what?”   
  
Lance shrugged, and he looked a bit unsure, which was different to how he was throughout the day. “You know how you don’t remember because of Sin’s Toxin?”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
The guardian didn’t look at him, turned his gaze to the distance where the others were celebrating. “I’m a guardian, yeah? So, my job is to protect our summoner, Keith, while he goes on his pilgrimage.”   
  
Pilgrimage?   
  
“So, tomorrow, we’re heading off to Besaid island to start his pilgrimage and stop at the temple there.”   
  
Shiro didn’t know where Lance was going with his words, but he felt that he might understand the attempt.   
  
“And after we stop at Besaid, we’ll be heading to Luca.”   
  
Shiro recognized the name. “Yeah, you mentioned that place once. You thought I came from there?”   
  
Lance nodded. “I do. Look, I grew up here – in Kilika – with Keith and Allura. I know everyone here, even old Father Audo, and I’ve asked around about you. No one knows who you are, and where you come from except for Belgemine. I asked her, just a while ago, and she said that she found you by the beach. She thought you were a sailor who drowned and washed ashore until she realized you were still alive and brought you to her house.”   
  
That part was true – that was his first question to his carer the moment he had woken up – but he didn’t know where Lance was going with this.   
  
“We don’t know anything about you, Shiro. You could have been a traveler from Bevelle or whatever, but from the clothes you were wearing,” and Lance paused, gesturing, “well, the clothes you are still wearing, it’s obvious that you’re not from Kilika or Besaid.”   
  
“Okay?”   
  
“So, here’s my offer.” The guardian placed his hands on his waist. “Once we start Keith’s pilgrimage and head to Besaid, we’ll be heading to Luca after, right?”   
  
Shiro nodded.   
  
“Now, Luca’s a big city. Not like Kilika at all – and there’s a blitzball tournament, kinda like a sports contest, coming up in two weeks. People are gonna be coming in from all over Spira, even some of the maesters will be there. It’s gonna be packed.”   
  
And Shiro finally got it. “You think that someone will recognize me?”   
  
Lance nodded, a bit excited. “Yes, that’s what I mean. You can come with us and go to Luca, and once there – who knows, someone might recognize you!”   
  
He saw the idea, the appeal of it, but it was also a bit risky, and a bit naïve if he were to be totally honest. “But what if no one recognizes me there?”   
  
The guardian deflated and shrugged. “That was what I considered, too – that maybe no one will recognize you, too. It’s a big enough place, but unless you’re a blitzball player or a maester, the camera won’t be on you.”   
  
Shiro turned the idea around in his head – there were risks involved, sure. There was a chance, no matter how slight, that if he were to be in a big city with a lot of people – more so knowing that there was this blitzball tournament thing going on – he  _ could  _ get recognized. The name Luca didn’t really ring any bell for him, but then neither did any of the other places Lance mentioned – and even before, with Belgemine – it seemed that everything he knew before he woke up in Kilika was gone, and all he knew now was everything since then.   
  
Like guardians and summoners, Yevon and aeons.   
  
He felt frustrated – at how easily his memory had disappeared, and no matter how hard he tried to recall the tiniest bit, all he got was a pounding headache in return. 

But, there was no use in settling down and being angry about it. Like what Belgemine had told him – and what Lance suggested – he was better off looking for the truth out there, and even if Lance’s plan bordered on a bit comical, it was better than giving up and never even trying to find out.   
  
No matter how slight a chance it was, there was always the possibility that Lance could be right. He had nothing to do, and nothing going for him at the moment – it was the best option he’s had in a while. Nothing to lose, but something to gain. Possibly, if he just tried.    
  
“Will the others be okay with it, Allura and Coran?” He asked, eyeing the two other guardians by Keith’s side. 

Evening had fallen, and the amber sky had grown dark. The braziers and torches set atop the rafter columns blazed cheerily into the air, and the festivities went on. A couple of kids were dancing to a happy tune, played by an elderly woman on a thin, reed-like instrument. The song was light and whispery and the watching audience clapped along to the children’s little dance.   
  
Keith was clapping as well, smiling a tight-lipped smile, a dimple on his cheek, shaking his head along to the tune. The aeon Ifrit, Keith had cast him away, and the beast had faded – and to Shiro’s utter amazement – into a pile of glowing lights that trailed into the sky. Pyreflies.   
  
“I don’t know,” Lance said, sighing. “Coran doesn’t really mind as long as it won’t jeopardize Keith’s safety. Allura, on the other hand…she might be okay with it if it was Keith who suggested it.”   
  
There was a funny undercurrent to the tone of Lance’s voice as he talked about the black-clad guardian. “And what if you suggested it?”   
  
Lance threw his hands up. “Might as well be talking to a wall. A wall that might set you on fire if you annoyed her, and Allura’s pretty easy to rile up.”   
  
“Does she hate you?”   
  
The other shook his head, and turned his head away from Shiro. “No, she doesn’t. It’s just…stuff. Stuff for another time.”   
  
Shiro recognized a diversion when he heard one, and kept his silence. Lance didn’t owe him anything – much more an explanation about his relationship with Allura – in fact, it’s Shiro who couldn’t help but feel a bit of gratitude to the other. At least, he now had an option to follow to rediscover his past. “If it’s fine with all of them, I’m in. Thanks, Lance.”   
  
The other turned to him, smiling. “Really? That’s great. I’ll go tell them later.”   
  
Lance then stalked off to join the rest of the festivities, leaving Shiro by himself at the edge of the inn. He was not really bothered – it’s not that the villagers ostracize him or anything, they were actually quite welcoming – but he felt more comfortable in the distance, watching them.   
  
“You’ve always been distant.” A young voice said, and Shiro turned to see a small boy – just about the age of the other rowdy kids – standing beside him. He was wearing a purple-colored shirt, with bare arms, and a hood that covered most of his face. There were symbols, golden in color, lined across the expanse of his shirt. He was barefoot, like most of the villagers. Shiro jumped, a bit spooked on not noticing the child standing next to him.   
  
“Hey, you’re not joining the others?” He asked, trying to settle his surprise. He was still aware of the sword strapped to his back, even though it was hidden as he angled his body to the other.   
  
The boy didn’t respond, simply turned his head in his direction. He didn’t look up.   
  
“People can’t always be distant.” The boy said, voice low, and Shiro frowned. Whatever the boy meant, he didn’t know – he thought of it as a joke, but it was spoken so seriously – and Shiro looked around, trying to spot a searching parent or other.   
  
When he turned back to the other, the boy was gone.   
  
Uncrossing his arms, Shiro looked to the ports and saw no one but the other villagers, and when he turned back to the festivities, he couldn’t spot the boy amongst the other kids.   
  
“Huh,” Shiro began. “Must have ran off.”   
  
The boy’s words echoed in his mind, and he shook his head and, after deciding that standing in the corner wasn’t really lifting his mood, walked forward and settled on a seat next to a few others.   
  
A drink was placed in his hand – it shone orange in the light by the torch next to him, set inside a bamboo husk fashioned into a cup – and he took a sniff, inhaling something sweet-smelling and decides to forego caution and take a sip.   
  
He frowned. It was sour, but not in a repugnant way – it actually made him want to try more.   
  
“Hey, slow down with that, yeah?” The man next to him, the one who handed him the drink, said. “Drink too much and you’ll be seeing shoopufs!”   
  
“What’s a shoe puff?”   
  
Shiro didn’t know what was so funny about what he said, but the man cackled and he shrugged – not really minding it. He added it to the growing list of things he’ll have to ask Lance about and allowed himself to enjoy the festivities.   
  
The townsfolk were generally welcoming of him, pulling him into conversation, being introduced to one another – word had gotten around in his slumber that he was under Belgemine’s care – and sure, some of the older ones didn’t look noticeably pleased to meet him (and he remembered his earlier disruption of the rules up at the temple and visibly grimaced) but, with the intensity of the celebrations, no one was really out to mess with anyone.   
  
It seemed that it was customary for celebrations in Kilika to be quite rowdy and extensive. Since Ifrit’s summoning, the celebrations had been continuing well into the night. The drink in his hand had doubled in the next few hours, but Shiro didn’t feel the slightest bit inebriated since the first cup – or maybe he was, if that was the explanation for him joining a couple of the townsfolk in a weird dance around the main banquet table.   
  
He was quite sure – maybe just a bit unsure – that it was not because he wanted to see Keith smile up close. Not at all.   
  
“It seems you’re fitting in well enough,” Shiro turned to find Belgemine smiling at him. He hadn’t really seen her around in the last few hours, and a part of him had already grown comfortable around her (then again, she did take care of him, so that was probably given).   
  
He grinned back, raising his cup. “Maybe that’s just because most of them are drunk.”   
  
She laughed – raspy – and looked to the banquet table. “We are all in good cheer. Finally, a summoner from Kilika.”   
  
Curious, he raised a brow. “Are summoners from this place not a common thing?”   
  
She shook her head, the strands of wispy grey hair at her temples moving along. “Not so many. Ours is a small, simple town.”   
  
A small town – a simple people – but there was nothing small, or simple about the fiery beast Ifrit or the display of power that Keith had shown in his summoning of the aeon. That didn’t even begin to count the summoner’s retinue, the guardians – a mixture of different people, but Shiro’s gut tells him that each had some ability or talent – and their conflicting personalities, yet consistently centered on protecting Keith.   
  
This brought up Shiro’s next question. “Belgemine, you’ve been in Kilika all your life, right?”   
  
She nodded. “I’ve never known anything else.”   
  
“What’s a Fayth?”   
  
He recalled the word – how often it was repeated, by the priest, by Lance, even the townsfolk – and wondered what was about such a thing that a temple had to be erected for it. He recalled the chamber, the cold damp walls and the darkness inside. It didn’t look newly made. The entire grotto looked ancient – as if it had been standing there for a long time – and if it were really ancient, how long had it been there?   
  
Much more importantly, what was so important about it that Keith – young, wide-eyed Keith – had to be inside for almost an entire day and had left it seeming a second away from fainting? 

Something about the thought didn’t really sit well with Shiro.    
  
“The Fayth?” She repeated, voice low. Shiro nodded.   
  
Belgemine settled on a nearby seat and Shiro moved to her side. “The Fayth. They are people who have given their souls to Yevon to fight Sin.”   
  
“Given their souls?”   
  
She nodded, eyes faraway. “Long ago, maybe even a thousand years ago, there was a great war. It was terrible, beyond measure, and there were fearsome machines –  _ machina _ – that caused so much havoc and destruction. It is said that Sin appeared then, and punished humanity for their misuse of machina, for all the horror they had caused.”   
  
“I still don’t get this Sin thing. What is it exactly?”   
  
Shiro sat by her side, crossing his legs as she turned to him. “Sin is our punishment. It comes, every ten years, and punishes us for the wrongdoings of our ancestors. Yevon teaches us that once we repent for our sins, peace will be restored. Sin will be gone. Until then, we repent.”   
  
That didn’t really answer Shiro’s question, and he didn’t really understand how something people a long time ago did caused a punishment to last centuries. Sin – whatever it was – seemed like a big deal to the people of Kilika, and Shiro fe;t that it was something that meant a lot to those outside of it, too.   
  
“And what does the Fayth have to do with all this?”   
  
She smiled, missing more than a few teeth. “The Fayth gives us the power to fight Sin.”   
  
“You mean that aeon thing – Ifreet or Efrit?”   
  
“Ifrit,” She corrected. “Yes, the aeons are gifts from the Fayth. It is their will to fight Sin made flesh. They are the realizations of our hopes for peace, and the powers to usher in our future..”   
  
There might have been something impressive, perhaps a bit foolish-mindedly so, in the way Belgemine spoke about the aeons. The way she spoke about them – it was as if they were people, with their own struggles and dreams – and not some conjured beast that looked fearsome enough to fight. Some of the pieces were falling into place, about everything, but Shiro had the slightest inkling that he wasn’t told everything yet. He placed it aside somewhat – perhaps the people, so used to everything that was suddenly new to him, had the slight expectation that he knew of it. His memory was still foggy enough, and he really doubted it would return anytime soon, but going on the expedition with Lance and the rest of the retinue might help him in clearing some of the cobwebs up.   
  
He frowned. Most of the things he has heard, or seen, recently reminded him of fairytales – things that shouldn’t exist. It wasn’t to say that he didn’t believe everything – seeing that display of power by Keith had sort of shocked him into believing somewhat – but as someone who had no recollection to compare and contrast the things he’s heard, and the things people have been telling him about (Lance, Belgemine, even the ratty old priest in the temple) it was almost a bit like walking in the dark with his eyes closed. A part of him was wary, telling himself that he shouldn’t necessarily believe everything that people tell him, but a part of him also wanted to know so that he could make the decision for himself.   
  
“Ah,” and Shiro turned to the other, but Belgemine wasn’t looking directly at him but above him instead, “dear Keith.”   
  
At the name of the summoner, Shiro turned and found Keith standing to his side. Hastily rising to his own two feet, Shiro angled for words as the other stood patiently, hands folded loosely before him. 

The summoner had changed his robes – it wasn’t the black one with the purple sash that Shiro saw him in inside the Chamber of the Fayth – these were white, velvety. By the light of a nearby torch, it gave him an amber glow – the reflection of the flames dancing merrily in the other’s distinctive eyes.   
  
“Hello Belgemine,” the summoner said, bowing his head a bit. His voice was just as deep as Shiro had heard a few hours before. “I haven’t personally thanked you for taking care of our visitor.”   
  
The crone laughed and reached a hand up to pat Shiro’s shoulder. “It was my pleasure, Lord Summoner. I couldn’t leave him to drown there.”   
  
Shiro felt his cheeks flush at the mention of that incident, but he’s a bit distracted by the face Keith made at the title.   
  
“I’m still Keith, Belgemine. Still the same, you know.”   
  
“Yes, dear. I can never forget.”   
  
Then, as if the topic of the conversation had shifted, Shiro found himself the recipient of the summoner’s gaze. There was that gentleness again – emanating off him the same way it did off the aeon. Intellect, however, shone quite clearly — and something inquisitive.   
  
“Your name is Shiro?” He asked, ducking his head a bit. Raven hair fell into his eyes, making him look infinitely younger. A tinge of shyness?   
  
Shiro doesn’t know why that…appeals to him. “Y-yeah, I’m Shiro.”   
  
The other nodded, hair swaying for a moment. There was a small smile on his lips that Shiro couldn’t stop looking at. “I’m sorry, about earlier.”   
  
“What?” Shiro asked, confused. Then, he remembered.   
  
Him barging into the Chamber of the Fayth, worried for someone who had been locked inside for almost a day – the precepts he must have broken when only summoners and guardians were allowed entry. Shiro recalled his earlier reaction and felt the flush return.   
  
“Oh! That, uh, yeah, um—“ and he looked away from Keith’s searching eyes. “I guess I shouldn’t have…or I kinda went too…um, I guess I…overreacted.”   
  
The other shook his head, looking away. “No! I mean…no. I was overconfident.”   
  
Not knowing what to say, Shiro remained silent as he took in the bowed head, the nearby flames painting a scarlet shine on onyx hair. Keith raised his head, and smiled easy.   
  
“Lance tells me that you’ll be joining us tomorrow?”   
  
Unbidden, he reached a hand up and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah. Lance offered, and I said yes. I guessed it was a good way to start searching for, well, anything I could remember.”   
  
A slight frown marred the other’s features. “Yes, he did mention Sin’s Toxin. It’s really horrible. I’m glad you’re feeling better now, Shiro.”   
  
The way Keith pronounced his name – softly, kindly – sent chills up his spine. It wasn’t the kind of chill that you get from the cold, or the kind when a lover says it intimately. 

No, the way Keith said it – it was as if he was practicing it, memorizing it and something about that – about the other’s open gaze and honest smile, had all of Shiro’s defenses lowering. He wasn’t particularly open with strangers – can go for passing courtesy like with his case with Lance – but Keith seemed the kind of person that you can be open with everything. He had no idea what could have made him say that—

—the thought was a bit scary, if not a little tempting.   
  
Keith didn’t say anything else after that, turning his head a bit to look at the children now being told by their parents to go to bed. It was getting somewhat late, if the cool night breeze was anything to go by. Not knowing what else to supply the air, Shiro said what was on his mind for a while now. “That aeon thing you did? That was really amazing.”   
  
Like a bush catching fire, Keith turned to him and he looked excited, wide eyes and eager smile. “Was it really? I was so nervous that I thought I might mess it up.”   
  
Shiro grinned, shaking his head. “No, you were really awesome out there. I thought you were on fire or something, but then when that aeon thing came out of the ground – I was scared for a bit.”   
  
The summoner returned his grin, that tight-lipped smile with his dimple, eyes on the ground. “To be honest, Shiro? I was a bit scared of Ifrit, too.”   
  
He could see that — but he remembered the way it calmed down and allowed the summoner to pet its mane. It looked strong, but protective – especially the way it turned about cautiously as the children approached the summoner, looking close to snapping at them in warning.   
  
“No, you were really great.” Shiro repeated, and not knowing what else to say, continued. “You’re a great summoner.”   
  
Flame-tinged violet eyes looked up. “Really?”   
  
He nodded, and Keith paused – turning to the table where Shiro could see Allura and Coran still sitting, the former occasionally glancing at them. The summoner turned back to him and asked, in a quiet voice. “Do you think…I can become high summoner?”   
  
Now, like most of everything, Shiro didn’t know what a high summoner was. In fact, he didn’t even know what a summoner is or what it meant to the others. While the name by itself was pretty self-explanatory – Keith  _ did  _ summon a beast from the ground – there was a bit of a ceremonial ring to it. What he had noticed, so far, was that Keith was given a slight – or maybe not so light – degree of respect and deference by the townsfolk. Lance did mention that he was a guardian, and that a guardian’s job was to protect a summoner and, Shiro thought, that a title meant being guarded by people must mean a high position. There was even something official sounding about the title, especially when it was spoken out as ‘high summoner’. Shiro also hadn’t failed to notice, the way they addressed Keith as ‘Lord Summoner’.   
  
The thing was – basing on Keith’s simple outfits – he didn’t look exactly like a king or anything of that sort, but the title seemed to put him on a dais as even the temple priests spoke of him in deference.   
  
Keith’s question – he doesn’t really know what summoners do (remembers the cryptic and vague explanations of the temple priest) or what a high summoner was (maybe they headed summoners or they were the ones summoners look up to? Like a village chief or something of that sort) – looking to the other, at his open gaze and honesty, he really did think that Keith can be great with whatever being high summoner meant.

It wouldn’t be lying, too, as it had been the first thought up in his head the moment the other asked the question.   
  
“Oh, definitely!” Shiro said, encouragingly. “You could even be high  _ grand _ summoner.”   
  
Keith paused – taking in his words – and his cheeks redden, and Shiro blinked. The summoner ducked his head and, then chuckled a bit to himself. The flush that had disappeared off Shiro’s face returned tenfold.   
  
When he raised his head, his eyes were bright. “That would be nice, too. High grand summoner.”   
  
Keith chuckled again and Shiro finally allows himself to laugh, a bit embarrassed at his slip but he didn’t really mind. The other’s laughter was pleasant to listen to, and it held no slip of a teasing remark at his blunder.   
  
“It’s really nice to meet you, Shiro.”   
  
And it was also really nice to meet the other, up close, without the fanfare of the crowd around. Something singular – strong – glowed in Keith, and Shiro doesn’t know what it was but it was wonderful to look at.   
  
“Keith,” They both turn to see Allura walking towards them. The fire light gave her eyes an ochre glow. “We have a long journey tomorrow. You should rest.”   
  
The other nodded, bowing to the guardian and smiled in farewell at Shiro. He raised his hand, as if wanting to wave, but he holds it down with the other and bowed instead. Allura brought an arm around the summoner as they walked back – to the temple, where Lance said Keith lived – and the guardian glanced back at him, once, before looking away.   
  
A hand patted his shoulder and Shiro turned to find Lance standing behind him. Belgemine was gone – must have went back to her hut – and he raised a brow at the other guardian. “Yeah, don’t give me that look. You need to rest up, too. You can stay at my place, I have an extra cot there.”   
  
Belgemine did offer this morning, that he was free to return to her hut should he need anything , but it was also a good thing to take the guardian’s offer. He’s disturbed the crone enough already.   
  
“So, how are we making it to,” and Shiro frowned as he tried to recall the name. “Bee Sad?”   
  
“Besaid,” the other corrected as they walked to the edge of the port where Lance’s house was. “it’s a small island down south. We’ll be travelling by ship.”   
  
“Huh? I haven’t seen any ships.”   
  
Lance shook his head. “Nah, it ain’t here yet. It’ll be here come morning, so you have tonight to pack up.”   
  
Shiro stopped, and frowned again. “Speaking about that, I have nothing. I don’t even have a bag. Well, except for this sword.”   
  
And funny, he had been wearing it on his shoulder the whole day but he hadn’t really noticed it, not until he felt it when he was standing with his back on the wall or when it caught on someone else’s bag. He guessed that he must have been quite familiar with it – in that past he can’t recall – and shrugged.

It might get handy, someday. At the very least, it could make for a good barter and he could probably get a night at an inn for it.   
  
Lance waved his hand at him. “Don’t worry about it. I got some stuff lying around, and I’m sure we can take a look at the shops before we leave.”   
  
“But I don’t have any money.”   
  
Lance’s grin was the picture of a bad idea. “I’m a guardian, man. I’ll think of something.”   
  
Something told Shiro that everyone in Kilika probably can see Lance scheming from a mile away but he doesn’t really mind. The other’s friendliness – aside from that one stint of anger inside the temple which was understandable – was rubbing off quite well on Shiro. He didn’t really think he’d be feeling this comfortable if Lance was a bit like Allura,  whose gaze looked like it could make the fire turn tail and run.   
  
When they got to Lance’s place – and Shiro noted how similarly it looked to Belgemine’s, and he thinks that all the houses in Kilika most likely looked the same – Lance pulled out a cot from a back room and set it out for Shiro to use. The other directed him to the bath and, while Shiro was inside and still trying to make out how to use the bath pail, had finished setting the bed by the time he had returned. Lance lent him a few clothes – some a bit too tight on his far larger frame – and used the bath right after, taking the leather shirt off him on the way. Looking at the muscles on the other’s back, Shiro wondered how he was a guardian when he looked around the room and saw no weapons whatsoever. Filing it away as some of the little weird quirks in this little port town, Shiro lied on the cot and stared at the rattan ceiling.   
  
It didn’t even take him a minute for his eyes to fall close, asleep.   


* * *

In the last few days, Shiro would sometimes remember his dreams. They were sporadic – and they didn’t happen often enough for him to remember consistently. Sometimes, he would fall asleep and it would just be pitch black darkness until he woke up, but there were nights – he didn’t know if they would be there normally or maybe he was just lost in recovery from the moment he woke up – that he would see a flash of images, unknown and foreign but Shiro felt that they should not be as strange as they seemed to be.

  
He’s thought that it might be a snippet of his past – little cuts of it that he could remember – but he also think it might just be what it actually was: dreams. Not necessarily memories, but just some of his daydreams brought to life at night.   
  
But – and this part of him was very small – thought that these little dreams may mean more than what they try to appear to be. It wasn’t because they served to comfort him – no, it was something different. These dreams, whatever they were, echoed. He’s still uncertain as to whether or not his dreams were any indication of his past, but the longer he thought about it – the more he feels that they really are.   
  
In these dreams, Shiro doesn’t speak. It was as if everything was happening before him and he was a mere spectator – set to watch from the side and witness it play out.   
  
“Shiro,” a voice would say and Shiro would turn to see someone materialize before him. There would be a form — humanoid — the details unclear but distinct enough to tell him it was a man, about his age. The face was nothing but blurred shadows, though. “I don’t think the Galrans are following us.”   
  
The words ‘Galrans’ don’t mean anything to him – but Shiro couldn’t express that. The other laughed and the sound was, at once, both strange and comforting.   
  
“Did the shoopuf hit you that hard, Shiro?” Another voice would say, and it would sound as if Shiro knew who it belonged to but was trailing on the edge of his awareness. Another form would appear, and this one would look both familiar and strange, a name playing on his lips and Shiro wanted to call out for him but doesn’t know what to call out, or if he could even call out in the first place. “That, or you busied yourself with that last bottle at the agency.”   
  
The first voice – the one tinged in a kind, if somber tone – would laugh again and something about the sound, the banter, echoed inside Shiro.   
  
“Well, in any case,” said the first voice. “At least the journey will be entertaining with Shiro like this.”   
  
“You would like that far too much.” Groused the other, and Shiro felt inclined to agree somewhat, even if it was at the cost of himself.   
  
The echoing laughter of the two speakers thudded inside Shiro, clinging to the edge of his memories – he wanted to remember who they were —  _ are —  _ and what they meant to him and why he felt the driving need to hold on to their voices.   
  
A burgeoning fear – of solitude, of always being alone – flared inside him and Shiro felt like he was choking. Memories – what’s left of his, anyhow – were often muddled, and Shiro recalled more of ideas than actual memories but he did remember fears. He doesn’t particularly like to revisit them – ignored them for other distractions, the people around him – but there were times they swelled up and made themselves known. It’s not really strong, in his dreams, but they seemed to hover on the edge, as if waiting for him to make a mistake so they can wrap him up in their hands and let him fall.   
  
He didn’t fancy the idea of solitude – of permanent solitude – even though he can handle it, more or less, on a day to day basis. Shiro thought – sometimes – that it might be the core of it all: he doesn’t like being alone. Perhaps, that was why he held fast to those glimpses of his past, no matter how random, how sporadic and how incredibly uninformative they were.   
  
He was afraid that he didn’t have a past – that his entire history was a blank slate, and he was born out of nothing. It wasn’t the kind of fear that plagued most people, he knows. It’s not the kind of fear you thought of when you’re about, but it was the kind of fear that rears its head when you’re weak, when you’re vulnerable.   
  
The voices become muddled, the words growing less distinguishable and he panics because they started to fade out.   
  
There were more words, but they grow fainter and smaller – as if they were moving further and further – and the images started fading, blinking out of his sight. A part of him started to rile up, not knowing what was happening, and he wanted to run after them – the two – as they trailed further in the distance. He wanted to reach a hand out, but he couldn’t – he wanted to call after them, but he was voiceless.   
  
“Sometimes, people like to forget.” Quiet and ethereal, another joined, an image of a boy in a purple shirt, barefoot, hood over his face came to mind and he knew, recognizing him. It was the boy.   
  
He wanted to ask why, or what – what did that mean? What do people want to forget?   
  
And a part of him, one that is curious, asked himself. Did he want to forget? What did he want to forget in the first place?   
  
“And sometimes, people are meant to forget.” The boy continued, and Shiro felt – at once – both a chilling realization and more confusion.   
  
They were cryptic, vague – not necessarily ominous – but they were certain, as if they held the truth of what happened to him. Shiro wanted to ask more, but the boy started fading, his outline fading in the blankness of his dreams.   
  
The images disappeared, the voices grew silent and Shiro woke up to a dark room, eyes on the rattan ceiling as the sound of the sea echoed in his ears. It took him a while to recognize his surroundings, and he remembered that he’s in Lance’s little hut in Kilika. The room was dark, save for the open windows that allowed the sea breeze inside.   
  
The distant roll of the waves echoed inside the quiet room, and Shiro turned in his bed. The other – Lance’s – was empty, save for a discarded blanket. It looked like Lance just rolled off and hadn’t come back.   
  
Shiro was set to close his eyes and go back to sleep when he heard a raised voice. Curious, he sat up, the blanket falling off his bare chest. There was a lull – crashing waves, a distant squawk of a bird – and another voice, not raised, but just as intense. It was Lance’s.    
  
Standing up, Shiro rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he approached the door, slightly ajar, allowing the voices to travel inside. He knew it was rude to spy on people, listen in on their conversations but he was still a bit spooked of the memory of the boy in his dreams. He doesn’t know if that was real or not, maybe just a figment of his imagination – maybe from all the drinking he did – but he didn’t really want to think about it for now.   
  
“…think for once about the pilgrimage.” It was irate and Shiro had a faint idea who it belonged to as Lance tried to placate the other.   
  
“I couldn’t just leave him, Allura.” Lance said. Shiro stood by the side and peeked out.   
  
Most of the torches had been snuffed out when the festivities started dying down and the seabreeze took care of the rest. Looking outside, he spied the two figures standing near one of the main walkways, and Shiro could see the silhouette of Allura’s dark robes. Lance was bare, save for his leather pants and his boots – clear in the moonlight – and Shiro’s earlier suspicion was affirmed: he had just woken up.   
  
“This is a pilgrimage, Lance.” Said the other guardian, words biting. “I don’t know what made you think bringing a stranger in would help us, but this is enough.”   
  
“Look, it’s not that bad, okay? He doesn’t have to come with us all the way, we could just leave him in Luca, or in—“   
  
Lance cut himself off as Allura stalked forward. “Excuses again? Fine, but he is your responsibility. Do what you will with him.”   
  
The dark guardian doesn’t let Lance respond, stalking away into the night. Lance remained where he was, one hand on the rest of a nearby wooden rail. There was a slouch to his form, as if he was tired and Shiro guessed that arguing with Allura probably put that more on the guardian than foregoing sleep did.   
  
Well, whatever it was – it really wasn’t his business, even when the topic of their argument obviously revolved around him. Still, there was something troubling watching Lance slump and sigh, slowly making his way back to the hut.   
  
Shiro knew the best course of action in this situation was to go back to bed and pretend he hadn’t seen or heard any of that. Whatever Allura and Lance’s relationship was, it was none of his business. He thought that they may have been friends or even closer at one point, but whatever it was now, it was muddied and spiked with anger, more so on Allura’s end.   
  
Lance, though, seemed to be the only one to try and reach out to the other and Shiro’s noticed the guardian’s attempts getting thrown back in his face. It annoyed him – just a bit – at how Allura was treating the other. Sure, he had no idea what was up, but then even he knew it was not always necessary to give the other a hard time.   
  
He sighed, stepping from the door and leaning on the wall. It really wasn’t his business.   
  
Shiro made his way back to his bed and rolled to the side, evening his breath as the door opened, creaking slightly. More of the breeze whirled in and he felt the hair on his arm standing on end at the influx of chill.   
  
There’s a creak, and Shiro heard Lance walk to his bed. There’s the sound – as if the other was sitting – but it doesn’t sound like he’s rolling back to sleep.   
  
It’s a moment – with no noise but the waves – that Shiro blurted out. “I’m sorry.”   
  
Lance wasn’t surprised – or if he had been, he didn’t sound like it at all – at Shiro’s words. There’s a sigh and the guardian spoke lowly. “You don’t have to apologize.”   
  
Shiro rolled on to his back. “If it bothers you guys so much, you know I can just find my own way.”   
  
“Don’t be stupid,” said the guardian, on a tone that brooked no arguing and had Shiro’s lips pursing, “with your memory, you’ll be lost or kidnapped the moment you left Kilika on your own.”   
  
“What?” Shiro responded, a bit irritated at the sureness of Lance’s words. “Don’t think I can handle it?”   
  
“Look, just stop. Okay?” The guardian’s voice was short and angry, and Shiro knew the anger wasn’t really directed at him – understood that it was more of a frustration than any sort of rage. “Tomorrow, we’ll be going on that ship and we’ll go to Besaid and Luca and then you can do your thing or whatever when you get there.”   
  
Shiro kept his silence, letting the air between them settle. The waves continued their tussle against the wooden rafters, echoing in the tense atmosphere of the room. He heard the other sigh, and Shiro continued looking up at the ceiling.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Shiro repeated, this time with none of the earlier hesitance. He wasn’t going to apologize for whatever problem there was between Lance and Allura, and the other didn’t want him to. “I’m sorry for taking your offer for granted. I’ll go with you tomorrow.”   
  
There’s no anger to Lance’s tone, only exhaustion when he replied.   
  
“Look, I’m sorry, too.”   
  
Shiro nodded, even though it might be hard to see in the darkness of the room.   
  
“Allura’s right.” Lance started, and Shiro turned his head in the direction of the other. “This is an important journey. It’s a pilgrimage. I shouldn’t have went in and invited you without asking the rest.”   
  
He understood, even though it felt like he was little more than a straggler. It was true, though – before he bumped into Lance — he already had a plan set out somewhat: to go look for his past out there, no matter how impossible it seemed to be. He had been ready to go about it on his own, but the offer extended to him by the other during the morning stayed with him. It would have been nice, to travel with people he knew and could maybe help him look for his past – that would have been wonderful, he thought.   
  
Shiro doesn’t like the feeling that he’s being pitied on, even when his entire situation called for it, but Lance didn’t act that way. Sure, he sympathized with his loss of memory and Sin’s toxin and whatever that was, but offered his friendship regardless. The guardian was just a nice person, and Shiro liked that.   
  
“The thing is,” Lance started, “you remind me of someone. Someone I used to know.”   
  
Shiro turned, listening.   
  
“Not physically,” he heard the other say. “Just that you had the same personality. Stubborn—”

“Hey,” Shiro grunted, though his lips were smiling.

“Don’t even start, I still remember what you did at the temple.”   
  
Lance must have reached the same conclusion as he laughs again, the earlier tenseness of the room gone with the wind. A moment of silence followed their laughter, before Shiro heard the guardian thumping his cot. “Look, we’ll have this for some later time, yeah? It’s almost twilight, we just have a few more hours before we have to get up.”   
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
Shiro heard the other get back into bed, and although he knew that Lance would probably still stay up all night thinking, he was a bit glad the other isn’t as down as he was a while ago. There was the diversion – Shiro still wanted to know about the person he reminded Lance of – but it was getting pretty late, and they would need to get up early in the morning to look through the shops for Shiro’s gear. Even if his stop was only at Luca, he would need provisions and more clothes by then if he was going to plan on travelling by himself after.   
  
Sure, he can consider Lance a friend, and may even extend the same courtesy to Keith but he really doesn’t know his place with Allura, more so with the enigmatic Altean Coran. Still, he’ll have to find his own way soon so he might as well prepare himself before then.   
  
There was also a lot of things on his mind – the dreams he’s had, that resounding conversation, Fayth and aeons and Sin – but he set them aside for now, just wanting himself to think about something peaceful, something easy.   
  
Someone like Keith.   
  
He turned over and ducked his face against the blanket, not really knowing how or why his thoughts always seem to go back to the summoner. It wasn’t even like they’re going to be travelling together long — he’ll be long gone by the time they head to Luca, which was only a stop away. Nothing to be gained from holding on to something, someone, that he may never see again.

Maybe Kilika and her people, the guardians and Keith — maybe they all would be forgotten soon.   
  
Then again, from what he had seen today – the flames kicking up the staff, the summoner raising a gentle hand to an infernal beast - he guessed that Keith’s pretty much made himself completely unforgettable already.   
  



	3. Chapter II: Let the Battles Begin

> CHAPTER II: LET THE BATTLES BEGIN

* * *

 

Shiro and Lance were sifting through the stalls at the nearby market, just a few hours after dawn. True to his guess, he hadn’t been able to fall back asleep as he spent most of it thinking – just what to do after Luca, how he’s going to go about searching for his past – and the frustrating part was that he kept coming up with nothing. It shouldn’t be hard, he wondered, to form a plan or something but, and this was him just reasoning out, the events of the previous day may have distracted him enough – after all, it was the first time he saw an aeon come to life. Still, excuse or not, he had spent most of the remaining night tossing and turning.

Turning his eye to the side, he spied Lance talking to one of the stall owners, probably negotiating the price of what seemed to be a small, leather pouch. It looked handmade and durable, but for what purpose the other had in mind, Shiro didn’t know. The guardian was gesturing with his hands, animated, and did not look tired one bit. Shiro knew Lance was just as awake as he was last night, although he didn’t really toss or turn – but had sat with his back to the headboard, eyes lost in thought.

Last night’s conversation didn’t end entirely on a bad point, as far as Shiro was concerned, but he knew that they hadn’t really touched on anything, especially when it came to Lance and Allura’s relationship and what the others thought of him joining them on their way to Besaid, then to Luca.

Shiro really didn’t think much of Lance’s plan – to have him join them on their journey in the hopes that he would be recognized – and a part of him also guessed that the guardian himself wasn’t really that convinced on his own plan, as well. It was a bit naïve, and improbable to begin with, but Shiro wasn’t one to talk down a plan before they even went about it – and who knows, if he was wrong and Lance was right, it wasn’t going to be a problem for anyone, either way. That would mean a step closer to remembering who he was, and that was fine by him.

Thinking about Luca – about separating with Lance and the others, with Keith – had him frowning somewhat. Sure, he doesn’t really know much about the summoner – save for what others had told him, and that one little conversation last night – but he was someone Shiro, a part of him at the very least, would like to know. He files it away as one of the little charms the young summoner had.

“Alright, here.” Lance exclaimed, turning to him and handing him the leather pouch he had bargained off the owner. Shiro holds it in his hand and quirks a brow.

“What’s this for?”   


“Uh, to hold your money?” Lance answered, sounding as if he was talking to a five-year old.

Shiro frowns. “I see that, I mean why buy me this expensive looking pouch when you could have gotten me any of the cheaper ones.”

Lance raises a hand, waving him away. “Please, you’ll be thanking me later. It’s durable enough for travel, and you’re gonna need durable for when fiends attack.”

Hearing that word again – one he’s heard in the last few days – Shiro pockets the pouch. “Hey, what’s a fiend and why will it attack me?”

“Not you, silly. Fiends will attack anyone.”

“That isn’t really reassuring, Lance.”

The guardian smacks him on the shoulder and laughs. “Well, when a fiend attacks, I hope that sword of yours isn’t just for display. Speaking of, do you know how to use it?”

Shiro turns his head, realizing a second later that no matter how much he turns, he still wouldn’t be able to see the sword strapped to his back. Reaching an arm behind him, Shiro grabs hold of the scabbard and pulls it free from his shoulder, leather strap catching a bit on his arm guards.

The scabbard itself isn’t particularly elaborate or lavish or any of that sort. It was just plain leather, tan and supple. It didn’t look new, but also didn’t look entirely used and worn. Holding it steady in one hand, Shiro grabs the handle – looked like fine steelwork – and pulls the blade out.

It doesn’t sing, as the blade is sliding against something soft, but the sunlight does gleam off it. Lance stands close to him, eyes on the blade. It wasn’t silver, or gold – and definitely not something shining the way he half-thought it would be - but it looked durable, handy and somewhat familiar. In the days that he had been recuperating, he had brought it up during dinner conversations with Belgemine. She mentioned that when she had found him, lying face down on the sandy shores of Kilika port, the sword was tied to his belt, and apparently he had been holding on to it, fist tight around the grasp.

No matter how hard Shiro tries, he really can’t recall, or bring up, any memory of the sword. A part of him finds it a bit foreign and strange, yet a bigger part of him also finds the image familiar. Belgemine had suggested that he keep it, as it may have been his and he may have been a swordsman, or at least somewhat adept at using it, and he found the wisdom in her suggestion.

Like one of his earlier thoughts, it could get handy in the coming days – maybe he can sell it for a night at a local inn if the circumstances dictated it.

“I don’t know, I can’t remember.” He says, answering the guardian’s question. “But, hey, how hard can it be, right? You just swing and make sure that you hit the right one.”

Lance steps back, eyes squinting at him. “That’s really reassuring, Shiro.”

He rolls his eyes at the other. “At least I have a sword. What do you plan to do if we get attack, you’ll sass them to death?”

The guardian laughs, full and wide, and shakes his head at Shiro. “If only that were possible, but no.”

Lance raises both his fists, closes them and pretends to punch him with his right hand. “I’m gonna beat them into the dirt so hard, they’ll wish they never bothered us in the first place.”

Shiro pauses, waiting for an opening or a cue, and his mouth drops open when he receives none. “Wait, you’re serious? You are seriously not going to bring a weapon – even a knife – at the very least?”

The guardian’s hands fall to his side and Lance frowns. “Why would I bring a knife?”

Shiro doesn’t give him an answer, suffices himself with shaking his head at the other. Sure, Lance looked fit and judging by the muscles of his bare arms, Shiro would even go as far as to say that the other looked compact and able and he knows, with the strength of those arms, they could pack a wallop but fist-to-fist combat wasn’t something he imagined would be advisable in any combat situation. Yes, Shiro isn’t one to judge because, despite the sword in his hands, with his memory scattered, there really wasn’t anything to indicate that he was a warrior of any sort, but it doesn’t take a full-fledged warrior to know that fighting with your hands will often put you at a disadvantage more than the other way around. Guessing that the other must be playing with him and keeping his tactics a secret, Shiro lets it go and sheathes the sword back.

He was planning to put it back on his back, but deciding on something, loops the strap over his shoulder and ties the other to his belt. The scabbard rests comfortable against his thigh, and placing his left hand on the hilt, finds the position more comfortable than he thought it would be. Huh, maybe he was a warrior.

The two spend the next hour making more rounds at the market stall. Lance finds a small bag, made of fine rope and leather, that Shiro could wear, straps resting easy on both shoulders. It was small enough not to encumber him should he have need to use both his arms, and it was also spacious enough for him to store a small change of clothes and with enough space to put in some potions. The potions concerned him for a bit – aside from the fact that they were in glass vials, he also wondered how dangerous it was to travel when healing potions were an unspoken, non-negotiable issue. Lance mentioned that travelling wasn’t necessarily dangerous, especially when people travel in large numbers, but there was always the off-chance that something bad could happen.

“After all, you could cut yourself with your own sword when you’re cleaning it and that’s just as dangerous.” The guardian said, opening the flap of Shiro’s bag and putting the potions inside. Shiro sees the point in that, somewhat.

As Lance handed the gil – the money – to the woman tending the potions, Shiro frowned. Sure, Lance did offer to pay for most of it but Shiro started to wonder how much. He was set in repaying the other, that he was sure of, but he wasn’t really sure if he’ll be able to find work in wherever they were going. In the days that he had been awake, Shiro hadn’t really explored whatever skills he had – or if he even had any at all. Even though the grip of the sword was familiar, he still wasn’t sure how able he was with it, if he was adept enough to work as a mercenary of some sort, and even if he was – being a mercenary didn’t mean an always steady flow of money. Shiro wasn’t one to turn away from generosity, but he also had a bit of pride and he didn’t want to owe the other too much that he couldn’t afford to pay back.

Walking away from the market stalls and heading back to the main walkway to head up to the temple, Shiro opens the subject up.

“Lance,” he begins. “You know I’m grateful that you’re willing to spend money on me, right?” The guardian nods, waving at someone they passed by. “Not a problem, why?”

Shiro says firmly. “I may not be able to afford to pay you back.”

He paused as he said it, but Lance kept on walking until he realized the other wasn’t following. “Huh? What about it?”

“Lance!” Shiro says, a bit impatient.

The guardian sighs and rolls his eyes. “Look, yeah, I did spend a lot of money but I don’t really mind if you can’t pay me back  _ now. _ ”

Shiro walks forward, frown lessening, his earlier irritation going away. “So, you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah, definitely. It’s not like I’m going to be able to use any of that money anyway.”

Shiro turns to the other, blinking as the breeze rubbed at his eyes. “What do you mean? Aren’t you going to use it for your pilgrimage or whatever? Like inns and stuff like that?”   


Lance shakes his head, smiling. “Nope. It’s a summoner thing. Summoners have perks, and one of them is that the summoner and their guardians aren’t usually asked to pay for what we want. Rooms, clothes, potions. True, there are summoners and guardians who do pay, but it’s mostly out of obligation and not because they’re required to.”

Shiro raises a brow, somewhat impressed. “Wow, I didn’t know summoners were that important.”

The frown the guardian sets on him is somewhat disbelieving. “What do you mean you don’t kno—oh, yeah. You still don’t remember anything?”

The question erases his earlier impression and has Shiro shaking his head. “Nope, not a single thing. I know it should be frustrating, and trust me, it is…but, at the same time, I’m not, you know? Frustrated, I mean. I just need to go forward and look for my memories myself.”

His own words sound strangely idealistic and hopeful and Shiro guesses that it was the result of his good mood with Lance’s company. The guardian smiles, nodding his head – maybe in approval or maybe in understanding, Shiro doesn’t really know – and puts his hands on his waist as they leave the main town and enter the forest.

“It’s good that you have that kind of mindset, yeah?” Lance says, and something his words – something wistful and approving – has the other turning to face him. Shiro wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what, seeing the faraway gaze in the other’s eyes.

While he still doesn’t believe Lance’s claim last night that Shiro was just as young as Keith, Lance definitely looked a bit older than him. Not necessarily aged or of that sort, but a few years higher on the age ladder than Shiro – and there was that look, that look of agedness in his eyes. 

Lance was someone, as far as Shiro knows, that had an easy personality. He didn’t seem the type to hold grudges or misgivings, and maybe that’s because Shiro only knows a bit of the other and who knows, maybe Lance’s happy persona was just a façade? Regardless, the other was usually interactive with the people around him but last night’s argument with Allura, and that sudden outburst with him, showed a side he didn’t really imagine the other had. It just goes to show how little he knows of the other – or the rest.

Someone calls Lance’s name, and the two stop in their tracks and look up. Two figures were making their way down the slope, and Shiro took note of their gear – the thick leather pads on their shoulders, the bright blue of their shirts and their booted feet. They weren’t armed, but they looked disciplined and a bit more covered than most of the town-goers.

Lance raises a hand and waves them down. “Akira! Seito!”

The two – Akira and Seito – raise their hands and wave back and stop to a halt before   


them. Lance points out which is which, and Shiro assesses them silently. Akira was a bit short, somewhere around Shiro’s height, and he had dark wavy hair set into a bun. He smiled wide at Lance and patted him on the back, and Shiro notes the gloved hands. Seito, on the other hand, was taller – taller than the three others – but he did not have Akira’s energetic personality. He smiled and bowed his head at Lance, content to let Akira do all the talking. He was also donning armor.

“Hey, this is Shiro,” Lance introduces, patting his shoulder and Shiro nods in greeting. “Akira and Seito are Crusaders.”

“Crusaders?” He asks, finding the term foreign. Lance nods and Akira’s expression becomes sympathetic.

“Sin’s toxin, huh? At least you’re looking somewhat okay, now. Shiro, right?” He nods at the other and Akira smiles. “We’re Crusaders. Our job is to keep most of the main roads clear and safe for travel. Right now, it’s just me and Seito doing our rounds as the others got too drunk last night.”

Lance laughs. “They got a bit too excited with the soju. I heard you’ll be joining us later?” Seito nods. “Yes, we’ve received orders from Bevelle that we’re to head to Djose. Right, sir?”

He directs the question to Akira, who nods as well. “Right. We’re heading back home to pack,  actually.”

Shiro doesn’t know where the conversation is going, but Lance might have an idea as he frowns. “What’s at Djose anyway? Aside from the temple there, there’s not much except for the Mushroom Road.”

Akira shrugs. “Headquarters didn’t tell us, but we’ve heard that fiend activity is increasing there. They probably need more hands.”

Fiends – well, whatever they were – seemed to be a problem everywhere, Shiro notes. Lance nods at the answer, and points his thumb back in the direction of the village. “Well, we don’t want to hold you up. We need to head to the temple to get Keith and the rest and we’ll see you at the ship, yeah?”

The two nod and start making their way down, past Shiro and Lance. Seito turns to them both. “Nice seeing you both. Send our regards to Summoner Keith.”

Lance nods, and Shiro stands watching them go. He turns to the other and the guardian crosses his arms at him.

“They’re Crusaders. They’re sworn to fight Sin, even though they’re more often outmatched. Still, I have to hand it to them – their determination is one for the record.”

“They’re both from Kilika, right?”

The guardian nods. “Native born. Actually, Akira’s a childhood friend of mine. We grew up together, me, him, Allura and Hun—”

Lance cuts himself short at the last of his sentence, and Shiro – who was only half-listening – turns to him in curiousity. “What?”

The guardian isn’t looking at him, and looks unnaturally guarded for a moment. He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Anyway, let’s hurry. I feel Allura’s getting impatient, already.”

It wasn’t  _ nothing _ , that Shiro knew. If anything, it had to be something, as the guardian wasn’t one to just cut himself short and go quiet. There was that last name, that Mon person he was about to say and Shiro has the feeling that it’s a bit linked to their conversation last night. He wants to press for answers, but holds himself back – despite their good banter, he and Lance hardly know each other and he respects the guardian’s decision to not talk about it.

Maybe, in the future, he would but if he didn’t, it wasn’t a loss for Shiro. It was just one of those things.

They continue the walk up to the temple in easy silence, climbing the slope of the hill again. Keith was set to begin his pilgrimage by sailing to Besaid, and Shiro could already see the ship docked at the port when they passed by it on the way up the temple. It was huge, wooden, and there were colorful streamers tied to the sail ropes. 

Even the sails themselves were festive, with paint of yellow and green and blue on it – in various elaborate designs, in Kilika’s home colors – and Shiro would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit excited, as well.

There was a slight restlessness to him – he’s noticed – in the last few days since he woke up in Belgemine’s hut. Shiro was able to distract himself, by focusing on recuperating or by starting conversations with his caretaker, and more so when he was finally able to go about the town and explore. Last night made him realize he’s been itching a while to go somewhere, to do something instead of just sitting around and letting the day go by. A part of it may have something to do with his obscure past and Shiro definitely wants to start treading that area, but another part of it may be something that had to do with just Shiro himself.

Which was why the trek up the temple also excited him – it would be one step closer to actually start going somewhere.

On the way up, they meet a few of the townsfolk traveling between the town and the temple. Even though he doesn’t remember pretty much anything about Spira or Kilika, talking to people or just plain watching them did help in familiarizing himself with much of the real world. The Temple of the Fayth, although distant and a bit exhausting to go to, was something very important to the native Kilikans. Even the younger ones, those standing barely up to Shiro’s waist, joined their parents in making their daily trek to the temple and praying to the statues of the past high summoners.

Yevon, their religion, was something the people took seriously. Shiro had honestly lost count of how many times he’s seen other people do the prayer – the bow – and he’s also lost count of how many times he had to do it in return as not doing so would not only be rude, but also somewhat dissident.

The priests taking care of the local temples were, in some way, the unofficial leaders of the town. The people looked up to them, even those that were treated as elders due to their age. Their word wasn’t necessarily law, but Yevon’s words were law and only the priests taught Yevon’s words to the people.

There was something really strict about that, and it makes Shiro a bit uncomfortable how believing the people were about the Yevonite precepts, but Shiro keeps his concerns to himself, not even telling Lance about it. While the guardian was generally friendly, and friendlier to Shiro than most (other than Belgemine), he wasn’t above the townsfolk. Lance was also a strong believer of Yevon, and Shiro would get that when the other would start pointing out some of the derelict ruins plotting the forests on their way up.

“You see that,” Lance would say, pointing to what seemed to be some ancient structure, the birds chirping overhead. It stood a few meters off the side of the main footpath, and Shiro could see it was made of some heavy material. Not like stone and definitely not wood, but something that shone dull in the light, save for the brown, rotting parts of it.

“Is that steel?”

Lance nods. “Yup, those are ruins, from the ancient machine cities then.”

“Machine cities?” Shiro asks. He recalls a part of it, Belgemine’s words drifting in his memory. “Oh yeah, wasn’t there a war, like a long time ago?”

Lance nods his head. “The Machine War. It happened almost a thousand years ago.” Belgemine said the same thing, as well. “What happened?”

Lance places his hand on his waist and looks up to the sky, thinking. “Well, like I said, it was almost a thousand years ago. Back then, there were a lot of cities, machine – machina – cities.

People built so many machina and they let the machina do everything – work, construction, everything. People just kept on, building them, and they lived a life of pleasure, never doing work because they had the machines do it for them.”

“And that’s when the war happened, right?”

The guardian nods. “Uh huh. People built so many machines, and when they started disagreeing, they used these machines to kill each other. It was a horrible war, and so many people lost their lives.”

“What happened, then?”

A dark frown on the guardian’s face. “Sin happened.”

Shiro paused. “Sin?”

“Yeah,” the other spoke, voice soft in the quiet of the forest. There were no winds. “Sin appeared, and punished man for his vanity. Man created machines for pleasure, and used it for war. Sin is our punishment for our vanity, for our attempt at being superior. Sin first appeared a thousand years ago, and we’ve been paying the price ever since.”

There was something ominous – even forbidding – about Lance’s words, and it sent a chill down Shiro’s spine. The story didn’t really sit well with Shiro, and a part of him questions why people today had to suffer for the mistakes of their ancestors but he’s not really able to dwell on it more as his instincts had him tensing.

Lance noted his strange expression and frowned. “What’s with you?”

Shiro doesn’t know he’s doing it, but when his hand falls on the hilt of the sword, it feels just right and his body relaxes somewhat. “The birds…they’re gone.”

The guardian opens his mouth, maybe to ask him more, but Shiro looks to his back swiftly, to the thick trees as the sound of rustling echoed around him. He feels, rather than sees, Lance tensing as well and feels the guardian’s back against his own.

“Shiro,” Lance whispers, rustling growing from his side of the forest.

“What?” he whispers back, just as tense, looking forward to the trees. The forest was thick, and somewhat hooded, and he squinted, looking for any sign. The footpath was devoid of people other than them.

“If you’re any good with that sword, now’s definitely the time to use it.”

Shiro wants to know why, but he doesn’t get to, as the rustling draws near, and he pulls the sword out with his right hand on instinct, holding it aloft before him, steady. His earlier notions on whether or not he was able to use the sword goes out the window as the feeling of familiarity, of rightness, sets itself in him ten-fold.

His grip on the hilt is strong, and sure, and the blade doesn’t waver.

He hears a slight movement on Lance’s side, and hears something being zipped and he supposes that the guardian was also readying himself.

For what, they don—

Shiro takes a step back, as the rustling fades into silence. He stops breathing, chest tight, as the silence echoes in their ears. There’s a buzzing, growing inside his ears and in his mind, as if attempting to deafen him. He wants to open his mouth and speak, anything to disrupt the silence.

He’s saved from wasting his breath, as Lance suddenly shouts, voice urgent.

“Watch out!”

Just in time, as Shiro flicks his eyes back to the trees before him and something huge and growling lunges from the shadows.

* * *

Shiro acts on instinct, even shouts in surprise as he raises his sword and holds off a blow from the creature’s snapping jaws. It growled – hissed – and Shiro grunts as he pushes back, thrusting the sword forward. The creature lets go of the blade with his jaws and moves away. He chances a look behind him as he steps away and sees the same one facing Lance, who had his gloves on. His eyes are wide with realization – Lance was really fighting with his fists.

Shiro turns back to the creature before him when it snapped its jaws. It was green, slithery and was on all fours. There was a gold fin-like protrusion on its back, and when it opened its jaw, it had a hundred sharp teeth. Its long tail snapped against the grass as it crawled to the side, snapping forward. It was reptilian – lizardlike – and ferocious.

He held his sword before him, putting the creature at a distance.

“Dinonix!” Lance says and feels the guardian against his back. “It’s vulnerable to magic, but we can deal some damage ourselves.”

Shiro pauses, eyes on the creature – the dinonix – and blurts out the first question in his head. “Magic? What?”

“Aim for its legs,” Was the response and the weight against his back disappears as he hears Lance lunge forward. Shiro, pushed on by instinct and the familiarity of the blade in his hands, steps forwards and sweeps with his blade, and the creature flails back, hissing, irate.

He grunts, changing his grip, and turning the sweep into a thrust. He strikes one of the legs by chance and jumps away as red seeps down the wound from the creature’s front claw. The dinonix howls – tongue slithering out – tail standing on end. Shiro turns to the other guardian for a moment, checking his side and turns back to the dinonix on him as it ignored the wound and creeped forward, relentless.

Was Lance wrestling with the creature?

He’s not given the time to wonder as the dinonix strikes and Shiro parries the jaws aiming for him away. It makes a move for his legs and, on instinct, Shiro jumps away, spiraling in the air. That feeling of familiarity – of rightness – is thudding in his chest, its intensity a hundred-fold, as he moves on pure instinct.

Exhilaration keeps him on his toes, he sweeps his blade and the creature backs away.

There’s the sound of grunting – Lance – and another set of hissing and something hitting against a sturdy object, a tree maybe, and Shiro glances back, concerned—

And it’s the opening the creature was waiting for, as the dinonix pedals forward – unnaturally fast – and lashes out at Shiro. He lets out a sound of surprise, raising his sword just in time as the creature tackles him, full-on, jaws wide and aiming for his neck. He falls to the ground, legs twisting, blade almost pressed against his face as the creature forced it down. Its eyes were a glowing yellow, feral, and it looked about to let go of the blade and make do with any part of his body, its cold, slightly moist body lying atop him and Shiro jams his other elbow into one of its eyes.

The dinonix screeches, not expecting the attack, and Shiro uses the distraction to force it away, jumping to his feet as the creature curls around itself, hissing.

He can’t afford to be distracted again, and ignores the sounds coming from Lance’s side as he raises the sword once more. He doesn’t feel tired, but he feels a bit dizzy from being pummeled into the ground earlier. The dinonix, as if sensing his confusion, starts moving from side to side. It ignores the bleeding front paw, although it does raise it to lick at the wound from time to time.

Shiro follows the movement with his eyes, sword aloft, and recognizes it for the tactic it was using. Intimidation. It was sizing Shiro up. Something intelligent, almost humanlike, glimmered in its eyes and Shiro’s earlier instincts start flaring up. He’s breathing heavily, and his body is tense, waiting for action and it’s when the creature strikes.

It curls on itself for a moment, almost snake-like, when it jumps forward, propelled for attack.

Shiro doesn’t move, watching as it runs forward, and with bared teeth, jumps away just in time as the jaws hit earth. The creature is thrown off by the intensity of its own lunge, and Shiro takes the opening. With a growl, he brings the sword down on its slender neck.

The weight of the blade, cutting through skin and muscle and bone – oddly familiar, and at once, foreign – runs through Shiro as he forces the sword down, end to end. The creature stills as the blade goes through it, and when Shiro decapitates it cleanly and sweeps the sword back, panting, the body freezes for second, before it rolls over, tail snapping against the grass rapidly until it stopped.

The creature’s head rolls on its back, and blood gushes out from where his blade had cut it apart completely.

Panting, somewhat disbelieving at what he had done, Shiro turns to Lance.

His eyes widen, watching, as Lance grabs the dinonix’s neck in his hand and jumps in the air, the creature’s body brought up by the force, turning slightly and – as if manipulating force and gravity – crushes it and throws it back down with a grunt.

It strikes the earth, completely, and there’s a thud to the air as if something far heavier than the creature had hit it. The creature dents the earth upon impact, and Shiro watches in amazement as Lance lands back down, nimble, and the dinonix remains unmoving.

“You alright?” Lance asks the other, panting slightly, and Shiro could only nod his head, taking in the guardian’s form.

It was…unbelievable. The way Lance fought, with his hands only and Shiro fell to the ground, dropping his sword to his side as he panted and the earlier adrenaline flowed out of him, leaving him trembling a bit. Lance hurries to him, asks for injury and he shakes his head.

Shiro just needed a moment to breathe, still panting, and looked at the fallen bodies of the creatures. The forest was still silent but he didn’t feel as if there was another waiting, but just to be sure, he picks the sword back up and stands.

“You were…” He says, or tries to, as Lance turns to him. The other was panting, but barely – compared to Shiro.

“What?” The guardian asks, wiping his gloved hands on his pants. Lance wasn’t even sweating.

“That was insane. Just. Insane.” He says, setting a part of his weight on the sword and stabbing it in the ground. “Nuts. Crazy. What the heck. Just happened.”

Lance looks at him as if he had grown a second hand, hand on his waist. “Just doing what a guardian does, Shiro.”

Shiro shakes his head, still a bit amazed. Sure, he knows that guardians protect summoners but not in the way he expected them, at the very least with Lance. He expected swords and shields and the sort, and Lance fighting in close quarter, beating something almost his size – with sharp teeth – into the ground as if it were made of paper was just awesome. A newfound respect for the guardian flared up in Shiro and he half-laughs, half-groans.

He looks back to the carcass of the dinonix he had killed and paused, frowning, as light started to twinkle around it.

“Pyreflies.” Lance said, looking at the same corpse. “It’s what happens when a fiend dies.”

Shiro watches, quietly – still shocked – as the light grows in intensity and they start to twinkle and they look familiar, very familiar and he remembers: they were the same lights the aeon Ifrit had faded into, when Keith had dismissed it.

He stands, watching the other dinonix corpse and saw it starting to fade into pyreflies as well. They were growing in number, shining - a slight singing in their wake – as they danced up the air, until they were too far for Shiro to see.

The corpses slowly started disappearing, the body turning into pyreflies and before he knows it  – the corpses are gone, even the blood, as the pyreflies spiral into the sky.

He shakes his head, the exhaustion somewhat relieved, and turned to Lance, who was picking the bag back up and Shiro noticed it was his own bag. He didn’t even feel it falling off him as he fought with the dinonix. Concerned, he ambles close as Lance opens the flap.

“Still intact. I told you, didn’t I?” The other said, grinning and Shiro rolls his eyes, grinning back as he sees the vials still perfectly okay.

There were a lot of questions in his head – like where the creatures came from, why they attacked Lance and Shiro, what did Lance mean by magic and why their corpses turned into pyreflies – but he’s still somewhat a bit high on what happened and instead, satisfied  himself by sheathing his sword back and wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

Lance wears the bag, but doesn’t remove his gloves. He smiles at the other. “So, how was your first battle?”

“Nerve-wracking.” Was the only thing he could say, and Lance laughed. “Good, that tells me that you’re not the type to let yourself get killed.” Shiro frowns. “Gee, thanks.”

He also has something he wants to say, maybe in response to Lance but he keeps his silence, and appreciates the moment for what it is. It was his first battle, and he had more or less survived it. There was more to that when Lance asked that question – it was going to be like this, from here on out. There were going to be battles, and they could either be with Lance and with the rest of the guardians or just by himself and he needed to get used to them.

He holds the hilt of the sword with his left hand, still feeling the strength of the familiarity. In that battle, he had done things he didn’t expect himself to do – to parry, thrust, jump and dodge the creature’s attacks. Sure, they were minimal and amateur maneuvers, but the honed instincts he had, that one-second reaction, it affirmed something Shiro. He was a warrior, then, from before and that idea, that feeling, was growing stronger every second he thought about it. He still had no idea if he really was a warrior, but he can definitely say that he knew how to use the sword at the very least.

His musings are cut short as rustling comes around once more, and Shiro and Lance both look around, wary. The noise grows, and it’s coming from Shiro’s end. He aims to pull out the sword out of the scabbard but then it jumps out of the shadows – another dinonix, the same green, the same yellow eyes – and its flying towards Shiro, hurtling, snapping jaw and all. Grass crunched under its claws as it tail slithered around and he feels Lance’s hands on his shoulder, as if about to push him out of the dinonix’s range but the creature – as if sensing Lance’s action – changes course and jumps instead, hurtling faster towards them. Shiro doesn’t even have a second to think as the jaws snap and—

The dinonix stops in mid-air. Shiro and Lance stare at it, stunned.

It was as if it paused – motion and time stopped for it – body frozen in attack, mouth wide – sharp teeth littering the sides of its pink gums, forked tongue hissing out. The creature’s eyes were wide, and Shiro doesn’t know if it was in surprise or in anger, but he had a feeling that it was more of the former. Even the tenseness of the body started changing, and it – the creature – started realizing the position it was in and started growing afraid. Fight or flight.  


Then – to the amazement of both – the green skin, smooth-looking (amphibian-like), started tensing. There was a growing chill, Shiro noticed, and he could feel it in the way the hair on his arms stood on end. He breathed out, and paused – eyes wide – as his breath came up in frost.

“Look,” Lance whispered, his own breath coming up in vapor. Shiro watched as the creature started whining, almost defensively, as frost started to grow on its skin and on its pale underbelly. It was growing at a rapid rate, and slowly, most of its body was starting to get covered in a thin sheet of ice. The whining grew in strength, to an almost pitiful point that Shiro even thought about putting it out of its misery as it hung in the air, freezing all over.

The sheet of ice didn’t stop, as it covered the creature’s head, all parts of it, and the whining became muffled. Literal frost grew over and the sheet thickened and Shiro definitely could feel that something was amiss here – as the heavy noon sun beat down on him, but his breathing came off in almost visible puffs.

The sheet of ice grew further and further, covering the dinonix stronger in its icy grip until it covered in a literal block of ice.

Shiro paused, hearing a faint whine – but it almost sounded sibilant, as if coming from a great distance – and knew that the creature inside the block of ice was still alive, but unbelievably immobile, unable to move or even escape its icy prison.

A rustle and Shiro and Lance both look from the creature in ice to see Allura step out of the shades of the trees, black robes billowing as a blue-eyed gaze turns to them.

She doesn’t look surprised to see the creature in ice, and takes a moment to stand next to it. The austere guardian raises a hand, palm open, and—

Shiro starts to believe in miracles and the unknown, as Allura snaps her fingers and the ice shatters.

All of it – the entirety of the block of ice – creature still inside, shattering into a million pieces and Shiro watches as they fall to the ground, each small scrap containing a part of the creature it held. The dinonix was dead, frozen completely and crushed like stone, unable to protect itself as it imploded on itself.

Shiro turns to the standoffish guardian and the searing gaze.

“Took you long enough.” Were the only words, and Allura started making her way up to the temple. Shiro and Lance stared after her – one of them a bit used to the display, the other completely stunned.

Shiro had no shame in saying that aloud. “Something tells me I shouldn’t get on her bad side.”

Lance nods, agreeing. “That may be the very last thing you’ll ever do.”

He sympathizes with the sentiment, and follows Lance as the guardian takes off after Allura. They still had a ship to catch, and before that – a summoner to fetch. Shiro had to admit, though, today wasn’t exactly shaping itself the way he expected it to but, after feeling the hilt in his hand, he never really expected it to go peacefully and calmly.

Something tells him he’s in for quite the adventure.


	4. Under Spiran Skies

> **CHAPTER III: UNDER SPIRAN SKIES**

* * *

 

It takes them just a few minutes to reach the temple’s plaza – Shiro thinks that it would usually take longer but the earlier adrenaline he had from the battle propelled him faster than he thought it would. The tall outcrop, carved in an almost shell-like fashion, rose to a great height as they stood before it. There were a few townspeople about, some of them recognizing the guardians he was with and calling out.

Allura nodded, while Lance waved and Shiro sufficed with standing behind them.

The rush of the activities yesterday didn’t really give him much time to take the temple in, and standing in the shade, Shiro sees how fully derelict it is. However, the symbols painted on most of the temple’s walls looked somewhat fresh, and the fissure in the ground left by Ifrit’s ascent wasn’t left entirely unattended. There were already people about, putting in soil and earth back to the hole.

“Yevon.” Lance says and Shiro nods, taking in the elaborate designs and that one repeating symbol: it looked like an eye, with two scripts by its side forming as wings and a central line down from the circle. “That’s Yevon’s symbol.”

“People really take Yevon seriously.” Shiro finally says, crossing his arms, looking up at the symbol at the apex of the temple.

The guardian – Lance – nods. “Yevon gives us hope, and has been our faith ever since Sin came to Spira.”

“No one really knows where it came from?”

A shake of the head, and the conversation ends. Shiro doesn’t really feel like pressing for answers anyway and settles with resting his back against the stone pillar they were standing under. Allura climbed up the stairs going down to the grotto entrance and paused and Shiro recalled the magic she displayed.

“Is Allura the only one able to do that? That magic thing he did?”

Lance nods, smiling. “The only out of us guardians, anyhow. She’s a really talented woman, and not everyone can use magic. I know I couldn’t.”

Shiro frowns. “But – a while ago, how did you do that, then?”

“With the dinonix?”

He nods, because that display of strength was a bit shocking, to put it simply. Lance had moved like he wasn’t held back by gravity, pummeling the creature into the earth like it was nothing. It was a form of strength and agility, entwined to give him a graceful yet powerfully fatal edge.

“It’s mixed martial arts. Taught to me…by an old friend.” The words are voiced neutrally, but there was an undercurrent of emotion in them and Shiro knew it was touching something personal for the other. “He taught me how to fight, and it’s one of the things I’m always grateful for because I know I can protect Keith with it.”

“Well, that display was really something. I’m impressed.” Shiro says, and files the information away. He doesn’t know if Lance will ever open up to him about that touchy subject, but Shiro doesn’t really mind – doesn’t press for it – because he has his own secrets, as well, and he knows how hard it can be to voice them out.

It takes a bit of waiting for Keith to come out. Allura steps up to them under the shade, and when they hear the sound of something being dragged, turn to see the summoner pulling a heavy-looking bag behind him, looking fresh and neat in his white robes. It was large, and looked stuffed. It didn’t really seem like a practical thing to bring on a journey, to be honest.

The two other guardians may have shared the same idea as Allura mutters to herself. “What is he—“

The austere mage shakes her head and steps forward, Shiro smiling at the back as Keith pulls the bag with both hands. “You really don’t need all that luggage. I’ve set your bag aside on the ship already.”

Hearing Allura’s voice, the tall – young – summoner jumps and turns to them. He smiles and bows and shouts back, sounding excited. “It’s not mine. They’re gifts. For the temples.”

Lance’s voice is softer when he calls out, but the tone is firm. “This isn’t a vacation, Keith.”

Keith doesn’t respond, but Shiro can imagine the trailing “Oh” in the way the other would speak, voice somewhat tentative and probing. The summoner turns to the temple and down to the bag in his hands, thinking. There was something…something sad about the image – the tall summoner, his dark hair billowing in the wind, holding a bag in both hands, cast in the temple’s shadow.

“You can leave that there, Keith. The acolytes will attend to it.”

Keith looks up and his eyes are set, nodding. “Yes, you’re right.”

Lance walks off first, hands in his pockets, the black cloth tied to his waist by his belt flapping after him. Shiro means to follow him, as Allura does, but he pauses – and watches.

Keith lets go of the bag and places it at the side, where it wouldn’t obstruct the main path. He sets it down and takes a moment to stare at it before making his way down the plaza, where Shiro was standing by steps going down the mountain trail.

The summoner pauses, and looks back to the temple, the wind picking up. His robe rippled out, his hair swaying and he dips his knee and does the prayer – gracefully, elegantly.

The image…it was nice. There was something poetic and picturesque at the image of the summoner, in his young beauty, standing near the center dais where he had once called upon the aeon Ifrit in its fiery glory, looking back to the temple. Lance mentioned that Keith lived at the temple, ever since he was born. The derelict grove was the other’s home, it was everything he knew all his life and Shiro may not be able to give a concrete example from a memory, but he feels he might understand how it’s like – to say goodbye to your home.

A finality – subtle, but perhaps traipsing at the edges of Shiro’s awareness – seems to fall on the scene as Shiro watches the summoner saying goodbye to his home. Maybe it was just a gesture of deference, or genuflection, and it wouldn’t be out of place considering the people’s approach of Yevon and their religion – but something about the way Keith looks at the temple, as if taking in each small detail – the color of the stones of the tall protrusions, the whistle-like sound as the wind catches at the holes in the higher parts set by the wind – and committing them to memory, as if he would forget.

Keith turns and spots him, smiles. He races up to Shiro and gives the other a dimpled smile. Shiro can’t find it in him not to respond, smiling back.

“Let’s go?” The summoner asks, eyes dark and wide under his fringe.

To where, Shiro would like to ask but he doesn’t. He simply nods and walks beside Keith, inhaling something sweet – almost like citrus – and the calmness that Keith seems to carry with him everywhere.

He keeps himself silent, letting the feel of Keith’s robes billowing against his skin envelope him in a soft coolness from the beating sun and doesn’t voice out – that if Keith were to ask him again, with those honest eyes and gentle smile, Shiro would follow him anywhere.

* * *

When Keith’s entourage – composed of Shiro, the summoner, Lance, Allura and the enigmatic Altean Coran – arrived at the main area of the town, Shiro wasn’t prepared for the number of people set out to bid goodbye. It seemed everyone, from the ports to the temples, even those out at sea fishing near the large ship, went ashore to say their farewells.

There were streamers in the air, waved by the children – the colors of blue and gold, the colors of Keith’s staff – and the tumult of goodbyes. Those who stayed indoors looked out from their windows, waving their hands as the entourage walks past them. He’s half a mind to wonder if the rafters could handle the weight of so many people, but they hold on steadily, the sea effervescent under the bridges, bright and clear in the noon sun.

Keith looks to the people saying goodbye, eyes bright and  _ happy _ , even when the smile on his face trembled at their farewells. He holds his hand out to the children, and Shiro watches as he stops, bends for a moment and pulls one little girl close, hugging her. The little girl was crying, holding a pale white flower in her hands – placing it in Keith’s hand. The mother, gently pulling her daughter back, nods and bows her head at Keith and the smile on her face is tearful, misty and sad.

The guardians – themselves – were engulfed in goodbyes, as well. Lance braces his arm around a few others, pulls them close and he pats their back with his mouth tight, nodding. Allura bows her head to the temple priest, who came down to see them off, and even the ever-silent Altean Coran – with his scraggly hair, pointed ears and timeless eyes – looked a bit despondent as he hovered behind Keith, watching over the summoner.

A hand pulls on his shirt and Shiro turns to find Belgemine in the crowd, smiling up at him. She looked well, well enough for a woman of her age, and Shiro grinned.

“I guess this is goodbye then?” He says. His farewell didn’t need to be so melancholic, but then again, he didn’t grow up in Kilika. He didn’t know the people the way Keith, Allura and Lance did – grew up with them, played with them,  _ prayed _ with them and see them off their journey. Kilika was a small town, where everyone seemed to know everyone and they probably treated everybody else like family. It was more than just a momentary goodbye, it was a promise to return, to come back home.

“You know you’re always welcome here, in my home.” She replies, voice low and raspy but Shiro understands her. He turns to the others, sees the crowds throwing small petals in the air – pale and white – and watched as they caught on to Keith’s hair.

“Thanks, Belgemine.” He says, genuinely. Honestly.

It was true – he didn’t know any of the townsfolk as well as the others did, but the kindness and welcome they’ve shown him, even if it was momentary and ephemeral, had set his recovery on an easy, calm path. Belgemine’s kindness in nursing him back to health and lending him her home for the next few days had meant so much for Shiro, even if he really can’t put it into words.

Not knowing what else to say, and feeling flushed to say anything more, Shiro nods and hugs the old lady. She hugs him back, arm around his shoulder and that feeling – that memory of a memory, of a mother hugging him close – returns and Shiro knows that he can always return to Kilika and start a new life if he wanted so.

Maybe that’s set out for him, he thinks as he lets go of his caretaker, in the future – but for now, he needs to set out for himself and chase down his ghosts.

Shiro steps away and follows the guardians, trailing behind the tall Altean and being showered in the flurry of petals they’ve been throwing. It has the same citrus scent as Keith, and maybe he understands why they chose to rain them down on the leaving summoner.

The ship is docked at the nearest port, huge and wooden. Its sails are colored, tied to ropes set to the rails of the ship. It doesn’t look lavish or elaborate, but there was something singular about it – something warm and familiar – and Shiro realizes it reminds him of Kilika.

Lance and Allura step up the plank and stand at the rails, looking over as the crowd follows them, not wanting to distance themselves from the summoner.

Shiro walks, eases himself through the crowd and can’t help but overhear the words of farewell. He escapes the majority and stands behind the Altean, who looked to him and nodded. Shiro turns to see a familiar face, the stall owner whose bag Lance purchased for him.

Shiro smiles and gets a sad one in return.

“I knew this day would come,” the owner says, looking at Keith. “I just didn’t know it would be this soon.”

He nods in sympathy, as he hears another voice to the side.

“Take care of him, please. Take care of our Keith.”

Shiro looks around, can’t spot the face or the person who said it, but feels that it was him who was addressed by the speaker. There were a lot of people clamoring in goodbye, waving, shouting words of good fortune and Shiro nods, as if answering the voice he had heard, and even if he won’t journey with Keith that long, he’d never let anything happen to the other.

“I thank you.”

The voice comes again, soft and trailing and faint and Shiro roves his eyes and finds no one.

Someone shouts for the anchor to be raised, and Shiro guesses it’s his cue to get a move on. He ducks his head under the waving hands, and follows Keith and Coran up the plank. The temple priest stands at the side of it, bowing to Keith as the summoner does the prayer and walks up the wooden board. The old man turns to Shiro and bows his head, eyes gentle and well and Shiro’s reminded that he has yet to face the punishment for disrupting the precepts at the temple.

The priest may have remembered the same thing as he smiles that crooked grin, flashes rotting teeth at him and Shiro tries to smile back, in polite.

He walks up the board, feels his own weight bending it but it remains steadfast and strong. He makes it up to the deck and stands back as the sailors pull the plank back up, and the crowd swells even more, stepping into the space left by the plank’s absence.

Keith stands at the side, near the where the plank was, and he looks down on the crowd, on the people he’s grown up with and known all his life. Shiro watches as he smiles at them – smiles a smile that is both sad and promising, and his eyes glimmer under the shades of the colorful sails.

There’s a bit of motion, and the ship starts to move. Shiro holds to the rails with one hand as he feels the ship maneuvering under him and watched it slowly move away from the port. The crowd continues to say goodbye, waving their hands and cheering for them.

Keith smiles, and he bows down to his waist, hair falling into his eyes as he stands back up. The summoner dips his knees, and he performs the prayer. Dark eyes are set, even if they tremble somewhat.

“Goodbye.” His voice is soft, almost silent – a whisper in the wind – but it hits Shiro like a boulder: the serenity, the sadness and the hope in his voice reverberating inside the other.

Nobody but Shiro would have been able to hear him, but it felt as if the words echoed around him, as the ship moved further and further.

Kilika – her wooden rafters, her little bridges and her huts, the thick grove of trees by her edge climbing up the mountainside – grows smaller and smaller as the ship sails further and further. The seas are blue and clear, lapping gently against the hull. The wind is cool, billows under the sails and dances gently on his skin as he too says his own farewell, watching the little town he could almost call home fade into the distance.

* * *

Besaid was a small island town, down south of the cluster of smaller islands by Spira’s boarders. It would take them a day and a half to get to the island, and another day more to get to Luca. Kilika had disappeared beyond the horizon, growing fainter as the blue waters of the sea lengthened. After saying his goodbye and standing at the rails for what seemed to be an hour, Keith bowed his head and excused himself to rest. Allura and Coran followed the other, down below where the cabins were, leaving Lance and Shiro on deck.

Lance gestured for him to follow and they sat at the upper deck, under the larger shades of the sails and treated Shiro to some stories from his childhood.

The wind was cool during the afternoon, the skies turning from blue to amber and it wasn’t long before Shiro took to exploring the rest of the ship. There wasn’t much to it, from the long open space on the upper deck and the captain’s cabin. A set of stairs going down to the passenger cabins sat next to the bridge, and the tail portion of the deck was used as a storage for crates. The shipmate who was fastening ropes on to the crates mentioned they were supplies, set in storage in case of a long travel, and he feels somewhat better knowing they weren’t all going to starve. He has no idea how far Besaid was, but the calm evening seas looked endless.

Shiro stood to the sides of the open deck, near the wooden rails and set his elbows, face in his hands. He closed his eyes, feeling the breeze of the wind against his face. Overhead, the moon shone her light, partly hidden by the clouds. There were no squawking of birds, just the sound of the waves rushing against the wooden hull.

“Flying.” A sibilant, almost silent voice spoke and Shiro turns to find the Altean, Coran, standing behind him. A pace away, the Altean looked taller in the evening moonlight. He was dressed as he usually was, in long flowing robes of green, his dark mahogany hair as scraggly as ever, timeless – almost unseeing – eyes looking at him, or maybe  _ through _ him. Shiro hummed, questioning. “What?”

“Flying. You are flying.” The Altean spoke, and Shiro just realized that he’s never really talked to the other – he’s noticed him, yes, in the background – always behind Keith – but not like this, and not this close. He just started to notice the faint lines across the other’s face – they didn’t look veiny, but almost  _ root _ like.

He remembers Lance calling them tree people, and looking at the unnaturally long fingers and limber arms – Shiro understands why.

A bit confused at the other’s words, Shiro frowned. “No, I’m not.”

The Altean’s eyes widened and he spoke, voice slightly hitching up. “Stones! Stones!”

“Stones?” Shiro asked, confused. Coran seemed really excited about it, and Shiro was lost.

The Altean raised his arms, long limbs in the air, the robes of his arms falling to his shoulders. His skin was pale, but plagued with the same root-like lines, reaching up to his biceps. “Lights. Lights.”

Lance didn’t really say anything more about the Altean, except they were a reclusive people, rarely venturing out of their cities – and that they were unnaturally fast and nimble. Shiro doesn’t know if Coran’s weird mutterings were a normal thing, so he shakes his head and scratches the back of his head.

“Uh, what’s happening here?” He asks, lost.

There was a slight chuckle, and Shiro turns to find Keith smiling at him from the side. The summoner was still in his white robes, but the sash around his waist was the same purple he saw the first time he met the other inside the Chamber of the Fayth in Kilika. Keith didn’t look as down as he was when they said their farewells to Kilika, smiling up to the now-humming Altean as he steps closer.

“Don’t worry, even I sometimes don’t know what Coran is thinking.” The summoner says, a hand on the Altean’s arm – now down at his sides – and grins at Shiro. He’s a bit thrown back by the intensity of the smile.

“Yeah,” He manages to stutter out. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Keith nods, smiling. “He’s nice, though. He’s been with me since I was very young.”

They both turn to watch the Altean as Coran slowly walks away, still humming to himself. “He’s a guardian, right?”

The summoner nods. “Yes. I know he doesn’t look like much, but I trust him with my life.”

Shiro has to agree with that – Coran, aside from his unnatural slenderness, didn’t look like much of a fighter. He didn’t have Lance’s muscles, or his surprising agility and Coran didn’t seem to carry weapons with him, too. However, he did feel that aura – that timelessness in his eyes – resonated a bit in Allura, and Shiro guesses that the Altean was also a magic-user in some way. He always felt a bit weird around Allura, feeling gooseflesh all around in the other’s presence – not the malignant kind, but the kind that tells him he’s standing close to something foreign and unknown.

“Mind if I join you?” The summoner asks, and Shiro shakes his head.

Keith smiles in thanks, and steps up next to him, placing his hands on the wooden rails. The wind remains steady, and Shiro watches the slight ends of the summoner’s hair trail up.

Itching for something to say, Shiro tries to hide the slight – and somewhat surprising – nervousness in his voice as he addresses the other. “How are you?”

The other managed to look calm when the townspeople of Kilika waved goodbye, but he did look somewhat sad after. Shiro could understand that, though.

A dimple appears on Keith’s cheek as he smiles at Shiro. “I’m okay. Thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad,” He says, “the people – they were really sad to see you go.”

The smile on the summoner’s face is both happy and despondent. “I will miss them. They…They were the people I’ve known all my life. It would be lonely not to see their faces.”

Shiro doesn’t like seeing the other morose. “Hey, you’ll be back, though. No need to put on such a sad face.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t be sad.” Keith says, giving him that tight-lipped smile and Shiro stares a bit too long at it.

They turn to watch the sea, glistening even in the darkness. The moon is almost completely visible by then, and her reflection ripples on the surface as the ship sails on smoothly.

“Have you been to Besaid?” He asks the summoner. Keith shakes his head.

“No, not yet.”

“What do you think it’ll be like?” Shiro questions – he’s curious. Lance told him that Besaid was a bit similar to Kilika, a little island town, even smaller than the summoner’s hometown.

“Allura says it’s a really small place. It used to be an old machina city and after Sin destroyed it a thousand years ago, all that’s left are ruins.”

Shiro nods, looking back to the sea. “That long ago, huh? Were people back then really that bad?”

Keith is silent, and Shiro doesn’t press him for answers. The wind picks up and the summoner closes his eyes as his hair falls into them. When it had passed, he reaches a hand to set it back neatly.

“Sin is our punishment for our vanity.” Keith answers quietly.

The very mention of Sin seems to have an effect on people, Shiro had started to notice. He, for one, don’t know or can’t remember what Sin looked like – or what it was, in the first place – but the way Lance and Keith speak of it – the way most of the people spoke of it – he understands it’s not really a happy topic. The way they sound – a bit apprehensive, tired but somewhat hopeful – doesn’t put a really positive image in mind. It was obviously not a topic they liked to discuss.

“It’ll be interesting to see it.” Shiro says, and noting his slip the moment Keith turns to him in surprise, he quickly corrects himself. “Besaid, I mean. It’ll be interesting to see Besaid.”

“Oh.” A smile. “Yes, it will be.”

“You grew up with Lance and Allura, right?”

“Yes, although they are both older than me.”

“Really?” Shiro asks. Keith nods.

“I’m only seventeen years old. Lance and Allura are twenty-five.”

Shiro would like to think that he managed to keep his surprise at bay, but the questioning look on Keith’s face tells him that he’s not successful.

“What?” The summoner asks, and Shiro shakes his head.

“It’s nothing. I…I thought that you were young, but not  _ that _ young.”

A pout grows on the other’s lips, and Shiro feels a bit distracted. “I’m not young. Seventeen is old enough.”

“Uh, no?” Shiro teases, grinning – glad to see the last of the sadness brought on by the topic of Sin and Kilika dissipating from the summoner’s eyes. “That’s really young. Like, kid young or something.”

“No, it’s not.” Says the other, and there’s a faint hint of a smile on his face. “You’re one to talk, you look just the same age as me.”

It was Shiro’s turn to look surprised. “What? No, I’m definitely older than you.”

“Maybe by a year.”

“Hey, definitely  _ more _ than a year.”

Keith is full out smiling now, teeth showing. Shiro really has to admit – even just to himself – that the other was beautiful. The curved lips coming up in a genuine smile, the dark eyes open and honest – he can’t deny it. Not a bit.

They stand there, laughing, for a moment – under the Spiran moon. It was getting a bit late – and Shiro turns a bit to see the Altean still humming, slowly nodding his head side to side along with the tune. It was a bit odd, but not the bad kind and Shiro turns his head back to the summoner, who was smiling at him.

“That looks pretty.” Shiro said, pointing to the summoner’s wrist.

The summoner bows his head and looks at his hands, and Shiro notes the colorful bracelet on his wrist – beads strung together, the gleam of stones in sapphire, emerald and ruby – it was new, of sorts, and Shiro had noticed it since they left Kilika.

“This was a gift…from a friend.” Keith says, smiling. “He’s seven years old, and his mother makes a living selling these at the market. He says it’s for good luck.”

Shiro smiles, nodding. “I hope he didn’t cry when they said goodbye.”

“No, he wasn’t there.”

“Oh, where was he?”

The other points to the direction the ship was going. “Besaid. They sailed to Besaid a day before I entered the temple.”

Shiro raises a hand, curled into a fist. “That’s great. You’ll get to see him when we get there, right?”

The summoner nods, quiet, but his excitement was palpable.

“When we arrive at Besaid, I’ll head to the Temple of Yevon there and pray to the Fayth.”

He nods, taking in the words. The thought of Besaid was also a bit of a damper for him. After journeying to Besaid, once Keith finishes their stop there, they would all be heading to Luca. Lance mentioned that the next temples they would be visiting were on the mainland of Spira, and Luca would be their first ground. A blitzball tournament was set there, and Lance had asked Shiro to accompany them in the hopes that he’d meet someone he would recognize. Coming to Besaid would mean a step closer to leaving the group, leaving Keith’ side.

He knew he shouldn’t be feeling that way – a bit despondent. He’s not even a guardian, not a part of Keith’s group, but in the days he’s spent at Kilika, he’s grown comfortable around the idea of friendship – with Lance and Keith, even the odd Coran and the reserved mage Allura. He doesn’t really want to say goodbye.

“And you’ll be given a new aeon, right?” Shiro asks, remembering the words of the priest in Kilika.

“I have to earn it.” Keith responds. “I have to earn the Fayth’s trust and earn the aeon.”

“Why?” Shiro asks. “Why do you have to go around and visit temples and get the aeons?”

It’s a question that’s been plaguing him for a while now – recalling the look of exhaustion on Keith’s face the first time he stepped out of the Chamber of the Fayth in Kilika. What was the purpose of it all?

“So I can defeat Sin.” Keith answers, a ringing finality to it.

Shiro blinks at the response. It was spoken seriously, in Keith’s usual deep voice and Shiro tries to imagine – the summoner, who looked fragile and young – calling forth entities of great power to battle something that seemed ominous, something he can’t recall. It wasn’t necessarily a beautiful image – perhaps a bit unpleasant, a bit…he doesn’t know how to describe it, but the idea of Keith going off to battle didn’t sit well with him.

He watches the other – the wind raising the white robes, billowing silently. The purple sash, painted on with thin gold lines, curling into star-like patterns. The slope of the summoner’s nose, straight, the moonlight glinting off his fair skin, dark eyes beneath an onyx hair. The image of Keith – it was peaceful, kind – something that pulls the image of gentleness and he tries to imagine him – in battle, in war – calling his aeons.

He doesn’t know why it feels sad, feels as if it wasn’t right.

“Can’t other people defeat Sin instead?” He asked, wanting to satisfy his curiousity and unable to rid himself of the image of a smiling Keith petting a fearsome, fiery Ifrit.

The summoner doesn’t answer, staring at the seas – a nostalgic, almost forlorn gleam in his eyes. Shiro continues watching him – wanting to comfort, but not knowing why he needs to – and settles with silence, listening to the seas as it crashed gently against the hull.

The two stay like that – somewhat at ease, but there was definitely something in the current – until Lance calls for them to go to bed. They were sharing a cabin, down under, and Shiro wants to say something – how he’s old enough to do what he likes – but he doesn’t find it in him to say so, though. Keith smiles at him, softly, and they walk back to the cabin, almost side by side. He feels the fabric of Keith’s robes against his hand, hears the almost silent footsteps of Coran in the back.

There were a lot of questions in his head, but he’ll have to settle with waiting for now – and hope that by the time they dock at Besaid, he’ll have the strength to make up his mind about his own journey.

* * *

There’s an image in his dreams – it doesn’t come up often, quite rarely in fact – but it leaves a lasting impression on him, even after he wakes. He never really thinks much about it, doesn’t even worry about it, but he does note that the image remains strong in his head even if his dreams fade in the few moments he’s woken.

The image in his dreams is that of a city. Shiro can’t recall how cities in Spira looks like, but he has a feeling that they don’t resemble this.

The city is gargantuan – it eclipses over such a large place – and Kilika pales in size compared to the city in his dreams. There are tall towers, enormous and round – reaching up to the heavens that Shiro feels dizzy looking up at them. These towers – the city itself – is not made of wood and stone, like the small huts of Kilika or the temple that carved itself deep into the mountain. It is made of something concrete, something sturdy – and there are lights – but they seemed not to give off warmth, unlike the light of the sun – and these lights erupt from the towers, from small glass windows. People, too many for him to count, would walk their stone streets, and they would be dressed quite unnaturally – compared to most of what he’s seen. They would wear shoes, or boots - their shirts weren’t the same sleeveless shirts as the people in Kilika wore.

There would be noise, loud and echoing – coming from big, boxlike contraptions – and there would be flashing images on large rectangular objects, and he’d see a lot of images on it.

The city was a like a huge, gaping beast – with its myriad lights and sounds.

Whenever the image comes up in his dreams, there would be something — faint calling – something that trembles at the edge of his memories, just outside his awareness. Shiro feels like he should know what it was, but he can’t recall and it frustrates him.

“ _ Isn’t it beautiful? _ ” A voice asked, and Shiro turns to find that he recognizes the person, somewhat. It was one of them – one of the two people that occupies his dreams from time to time. The person – and that feeling as if he is forgetting something important returns – smiles at him, smiles that kind yet somehow sad smile at him. There’s a trace of Keith in that smile.

He doesn’t have a voice in his dreams, but he can see that – in spite of the fearsome towers and glowing lights – there was an odd sort of beauty to the city. It looked thriving, and the people looked happy.

“ _ I’ve always imagined how it would like, but never did I imagine it would be like this _ .” Says the specter, standing next to him. There was a faint glow to him – and Shiro notes that almost translucence of the other.

What did he imagine it would look like, Shiro doesn’t know. He wants to, though.

“ _ All my life, I thought it would be something derelict and ancient. _ ” The other says, and turns to him – and smiles. It looked peaceful, at one. “ _ Thank you for being here, Shiro.” _

He wants to know – who was this other person? Shiro knows, even if he doesn’t know the other was, that it was someone important – to him. A friend, or a brother – an acquaintance, a comrade? The obscureness of his memory was starting to get to him, and a part of him wants to scream as he is bombarded by images he doesn’t recognize.

The image flickers and disappears as Shiro is unceremoniously pulled from his sleep. He lets out sound of surprise as something gargantuan hits the ship, swinging it sideways and everyone in the room falls from their beds.

His vision is still a bit blurry, suddenly thrown from sleep, and Shiro struggles to look for his boots and sword as the ship rocks again and he’s thrown against the wall. The overhead lights flicker and fluctuate, and he turns to see the others in the same state of alarm – Lance, who was bracing against the door in just his pants, and Allura on the ground, pristine hair slightly in a mess as she fell from the bed. Keith and Coran were up against the wall, the same as him, and there was a red mark on the summoner’s cheek – from hitting the wall accidentally with his body to the side.

“What in the world is going on?!” Lance shouts as the ship rocks again, and they all brace themselves. There’s shouting – out at the corridors – and when the ship rocked back enough for a decent footing, Lance hurried to the door and opened it. “Everyone, out!”

They all made their way out – carefully – and Shiro grabbed his boots and sword on the way out. Slipping them on, he stood back up to face most of the crew and the other passengers running about as well.

People were screaming and shouting, looking for other people, and Lance turns to them and tells them to stick close to Keith. The summoner, understanding his tone, nods his head and holds his staff in his hands. Allura hands Lance his shirt, and the fighter puts it on – grabbing the arm of a passing shipmate just in time.

“What’s happening?” He asks, voice loud over the shouting.

The man – he’s not one of the Kilikans who went aboard and Shiro guesses he’s a Besaid native – shrugs, eyes wide and alarmed. “We don’t know! Something is colliding with the ship.”

“Too late for that, Lance.” Shiro calls out. “We should get to the deck, it’s not safe here.”

The fighter nods, releasing the arm of the shipmate who then hurried to the stairs going to the upper deck. They follow the man, making sure to steer clear of the other people running about and keeping an eye on Keith, who was set in the center of their little circle. Shiro, all traces of sleep gone, holds his sword close, fist tight on the hilt.

The Crusaders – Akira and Seito – are running back down, bringing rope and what seemed to be a large harpoon. They brush through the group and down the hall and Lance tells them to hurry as they climb the steps up.

On the upper deck, it was chaos. The crates – stocked with food for the journey and set in neat piles the day before – are thrown about haphazardly, rice and fruits littering the ground as the shaking of the ship pushed them all down. They make their way to the open deck, sidestepping the broken wood and Shiro nearly slips as something hits the ship again and they’re thrown off their balance.

Shiro holds to the rail with one hand, and his sword with the other and turns to see Keith gripping the rail tightly next to him. He takes a look out and finds the earlier calm of the sea had disappeared, and the waves were large and high as they crashed against the ship.

Something large, fin-like, rose in the distance – its silhouette visible in the almost pitch black darkness – and as it came back down, it raised waves high enough to cause the ship to rock again.

“What—“

His question is cut off short as a resounding scream reaches his ears.

Another crash, and something gargantuan – bigger than anything Shiro has ever seen – rises to the surface, just beyond the railings they were holding on. The waters recede from its surface, falling off it in rushes. Sea water sprays into the air, and he blinks as it gets into his eyes. It eclipsed almost his entire vision and he could feel something alien and otherworldly emanate from it. The guardians next to him are silent, staring wide-eyed at the huge…whatever it was rising to the surface and they braced themselves as the action caused the ship to turn sideways, rising with the waves its ascension had brought.

It was far larger than anything he’s ever seen, and he feels that it wouldn’t take much to sink the ship.

The scream came again and Shiro blinks, fear bubbling in his throat, as understanding sinks in. Beside him, Keith had gone pale and the hand he held the staff with was trembling, his knuckles white.

In the moments of twilight, just before dawn – under Spiran skies, rising to the surface with a darkness that the passengers trembled to behold, that Sin arrives.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Always happy to put my OTP into a lot of AUs and write for them. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> You can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spaceboykenny) and on [Tumblr](https://spaceboykenny.tumblr.com/)!


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